Fighting With You
by SoftballQueen12
Summary: To WICKED, the Scorch Trials were a complete success. To Louisa, it was hell on earth. Everything she thought she had was ripped away from her, leaving her broken and confused. Will Louisa be able to compose herself enough to help the Gladers fight the people that hurt her and destroyed the lives of hundreds of people? ( FINALE TO FIGHTING AGAINST YOU )
1. Chapter 1

**GUYS I'M SO MAD THE COVER FOR THIS STORY WON'T UPLOAD ON HERE.**

* * *

There is nothing but darkness. Nothing but darkness and a flickering light, causing me to squint. The light doesn't illuminate anything, making me feel like I'm floating. My feet aren't on anything solid. I reach out with my hands, and there's nothing around me. It's desensitizing and disorienting, making my head spin.

And then another figure appears. More follow, seeming like nothing but shadows in the blackness of my surroundings. I squint, trying to make out the faces when my skin starts to burn, os much like it did when I was struck by lightning. A strangled scream leaves my mouth as it burns, and hurts. It _hurts._

The light stops flickering and sputters on.

I recognize the people in front of me.

My clothes catch fire as I look at Ben, Chuck, Gally, Winston, and every other Glader I have ever seen die. Alby is leading them, the flames on my clothes reflected in his eyes.

" Help. " I say, the words choking me as smoke starts to suffocate me.

Alby shakes his head no. Green veins bulge in his neck, reminding me of when he got stung. I open my mouth to speak again but end up coughing as my eyes start to water.

" You failed us. " He says, his voice monotone. As if he could care less that he is here. I want to tell him I'm sorry that I couldn't save him, one of my first friends in the Glade, but no words come out. He needs to know I'm sorry. They all do. " You let us die. "

The Gladers in the back start to move to the side, parting, making way for someone or something. They all gradually do that, until Alby looks over his shoulder and moves to the side.

And Louisa takes his place.

She doesn't have a leg or a prosthetic. Her grey eyes are dull, her face unreadable as she they travel up and down my body, taking in the fire. She'll help me. I know she will. She won't let anyone be treated like she was.

" Why didn't you save me? " She asks. Her lip wobbles as her eyes land on mine. Her face is filthy and her hair sticks to it, due to sweat or weather, I don't know. " Look at me. " There are scars on her forearms from where she was tortured; she's missing half of her left leg; there's a bandaged wrapped around her hand from where she accidentally landed on glass. " I trusted you. " She gestures behind her. " We all did. And you failed us. "

" You failed, Minho. "

….

I wake up with a start. Sweat has drenched the clothes WICKED gave me, making them sick to my body. I can still feel the ghost of the flames, and I quickly get out of the bed, pushing the cotton covers aside. My legs are shaky as I pull open the door to my personal bath room and turn the shower on as cold as it can go. I step inside, not even bothering to take my clothes off.

The water makes the flames go away, and I rest my head against the cool, white tiles. My mind is still slow with sleep, but I manage to have enough sense to turn the water off and step out of the shower. It has been like this for the past two weeks, nightmares every time I close my eyes. It's like the images of them are permanently glued to the back of my eyelids.

I grab a fluffy, white towel off of the rack to my right, running it across my face. This place feels too luxurious after what we had in the Maze and the Scorch, and it feels wrong.

I peel my cold, wet clothes off, grabbing some more out of the dresser. _The dresser._ The ones I pull on fit perfectly, like they were made for me. It bothers me, how much WICKED knows about me, and how little I know about myself. Is this how Louisa felt when she first came to WICKED?

No, I can't imagine how she felt. All I know is that I felt so betrayed, but now I know there was nothing she could do. Especially not with these people hovering over her. Here, I feel more trapped than I did in the Maze with all these scientists wandering around.

I lay back down on my bed and drape a hand across my face. I know that the rest of the Gladers are okay and alive—well, everyone except for Thomas, but that shank has a reputation of living despite all that's happened. I shift on the mattress. I'm worried about everyone, and wonder if they have nightmares like I do, but I know they'll pull through. If they can survive the Trials, the aftermath shouldn't be too hard to handle.

Louisa flashes through my mind.

I still haven't seen her. I've spent every day of the past two weeks wandering around this facility, looking for her. Hoping I'll run into her. She didn't seem right the last time I saw her in the Scorch. I mean, who would? She had just seen someone she thought was dead—someone she thought she killed because he abused her. She needs someone to be next to her right now. I want someone next to me.

And I want it to be her.

I sigh and run a hand across my face as I sit up. I glance at the clock. 7:00 AM. There's no way I'm going to fall back asleep so I stand and make my way towards the door, barely glancing around the room. Everythign in here is either white, silver, or grey, colors I find WICKED likes a lot.

My door slides open as I approach it, something I'm still not used to, and I make my way to the breakfast hall, eyes constantly darting around me, searching for Louisa but never finding her.

….

I feel trapped, yet Janson told me I was free to wander around the facilities if I felt compelled to do so. I haven't.

I haven't wanted to do anything except die.

I don't know what's real and what's fake. The difference between what WICKED planted in my mind and what really happened is so minuscule it's practically nonexistent. My head is constantly hurting from the memories of two different lives. I can't comprehend anything. Nothing makes sense!

The worst part is, there is no one to help me.

My mom—no, Ms. Kittredge, despises me with every cell in her body. Noah is dead, and there is no one else that knew me before WICKED.

I'm so alone. There's no one, _no one,_ that understands me. I don't even know me. I thought I was Louisa Kittredge, but that was just a cover for the Trials. So, logically, everything that happened during the Trials was a lie, right?

But everything I felt wasn't.

Can WICKED control my emotions? Janson said that the blue liquid in that vile knocked me out, and that he took the Swipe out after that. I barely heard him due to the multitude of images and voices and names surging through my brain, overwhelming me to the point I couldn't function. I was taken to this room, and I haven't moved since.

I've cried more times than I can remember as the images WICKED supplied me with overlay with the ones I just recently remembered.

Why did they do this to me? What effect could this have had on the Trials?

There are memories of me, around age fourteen, in a city, scavenging for food with my brother. And then another one overpowers it, one of me pulling pranks with Newt and laughing with Noah.

Which one actually happened?

Why would WICKED supply me with memories? Why break me down like this?

I pull my knees further to my chest, hating the way the blanket made my skin itch. The room was cool, so I deal with it, but my nails rake against my skin constantly.

Was the man in the Scorch my real father, or was it a lie just like my mom was? Was my love for Noah a lie, something manufactured by WICKED, or did I actually love him like a brother? Is everything I have ever felt a lie? Something that WICKED made me feel?

My door opens, but I ignore it. Whoever it is can go to hell. I don't want to see anyone.

" Louisa, it's time to get fitted for your prosthetic. " A woman says in a sickeningly sweet voice. How can she speak like that, so nice, so innocent, when she did this to me? When she mixed two lives together and dumped them inside of my brain?

" Fuck off. " I mumble into my pillow. I think about the last thing I remember, the time Minho got me drunk. Is that real? Did that actually happen?

" I can't. I'm sorry. You have to get the prosthetic. We have to get a measurement of your legs and create it so you'll be able to walk. "

" Oh, so you don't know how long my leg is? " I ask, sitting up and glaring at her. The blankets fell down to my waist revealing a black sports bra, the only thing I've worn for the past two weeks. I'm going to wear as little as possible, expose as much skin as possible, so they can see all the scars they've caused. The bad thing is, the lady in the white lab coat and blue dress seems unfazed.

" No. Let's go. " She walks over, holding out her hand. I eye it for a half second before I plop back down on my pillow. It's not like I plan to go anywhere. I don't need to walk. The lady sighed. " You asked for it. Men! "

She moves aside, and two large men enter the room. They're dressed in all black. I suppose they think I'll find that intimidating, but I just glare at them.

" You lay one finger on me and I'll spill your guts all over this pretty white floor. "

They don't respond. They just keep coming. I sit up, ready to punch, kick, fight, when something crosses my mind. If I don't want to live, then what's the point of fighting?

Yea. What's the point of fighting?

But as soon as they put their large, meaty hands on my body my muscles automatically tense and I start to thrash. A harsh scream escapes my lips as they carry me to the door, but they don't seem to be effected by anything. My running shorts bunch up around the very top of my legs, leaving most of them exposed. I catch one of the guys in the face with my hand, but he doesn't stop.

The hallway lights flicker and I can hear the clinking of silverware coming from somewhere behind me, the direction I'm not going.

" No! " I yell as loud as I can. " Put me down! Let me— " _die._

The word gets choked off as someone rounds the corner, and we nearly walk right into him.

We nearly walk right into Minho.

I look at him, eyes wide as the Familiars stop behind him.

" Louisa?" He questions as we walk by. I see Newt behind him, and Frypan and Clint. I ignore them, I force myself to ignore them, and kick harder, flail harder, but the people holding me don't loosen their grip.

" I don't want the fucking prosthetic! " I yell, the back of my throat burning. Did the Louisa I used to be think this would ever happen to her? Did that Louisa ever even exist? " Just—just let me rot in that room! "

Tears fall down my face, " Let go! "

" Louisa! " I hear Minho raise his voice but I don't look in his direction. Is he lying about not hurting me? Is he trying to get me close so he can betray me like Newt did? Did Newt ever love me? " Louisa!" He yells again, but I'm too far down the hall now. They've carried me too far.

There's no way they'll let me go either, so I relax and let myself be carried away to get something to help me _live._ To help a disgusting piece of trash live. Why can't my life be given to someone that knows what to do with it? Someone that isn't so useless. To someone who could see Noah's dream—

Never mind. Who knows if he even meant that?

" Isn't it so much easier when you don't struggle? " The woman asks. I would glare at her, but it requires too much energy so I just stare at the ceiling. The lights every few feet seem too bright, and I end up closing my eyes. But painted on the back of my eyelids is a nightmare darker than night. Colors swirl together and mix, creating images that I don't want to see. Images of a worn down house, a fenced in yard, a crying face.

 _" You'll be strong. " The woman in front of me drags a hand down my face, a tender touch. " And you'll defend us like your brother. Go, go to the Right Arm. "_

 _The sun is setting behind her. Someone grabs my hand from and pulls me away as tears formulate in her blue eyes._

" _Mom... " The word leaves my mouth and my voice cracks. I'm going to miss her, I can feel it._

And then it morphs into something else.

 _" Louisa, let's go. They're waiting for us. " Noah says, pulling on my arm. The sun turns into a bright, white light, and walls rise around us._

 _" Do I have to go? " Any feelings of sorrow are gone as I groan, trudging along to keep pace with Noah._

 _" WICKED feels it's important. So yes. " Noah pushes his glasses up on his nose._

 _" I'm just a kid! "_

" _The smartest one here. They just want your opinion on something. " Noah smiles at me, and I feel a boost of confidence but I still don't want to go talk to WICKED. They're big, and scary._

I open my eyes. Which of those actually happened? I don't know what to believe anymore. I wish I could feel numb to everything, just block it all out and forget that reality exists. There isn't even a cure for the Flare yet; how can I be expected to live in a hell like this? It's not even comparable to hell anymore. It's fifty times worse.

I hear a door slide open and the ceiling changes to a soft grey. I don't fight as the set me down on the bed and start taking measurements. My moment of effort is gone. If I can't control myself, my thoughts, my emotions, why can't WICKED do it for me, like they always did?

The scientist—or doctor, whatever she is—is talking to me, but it sounds like I'm deep in a pool of water. I don't want to hear what she has to say, because it can't possibly be helpful. The only thing that could be helpful would be a guide. Something to point out what's real and fictitious so I can get rid of this grogginess in my mind. Everything feels slow and too fast at the same time. Sometimes, when I'm just laying here, I'll remember something happy and burst out laughing, and then have something else pop up and I'll start crying.

I want to believe that I was with WICKED, that I love Newt and Minho and Noah and my mo—Mrs. Kittredge. The other things, the memories of me out in the field playing, or in a small kitchen table eating, they don't feel real. They seem fake.

" Louisa! "

Am I going to be like this forever?

Probably, since forever to me is only going to be a matter of days.

" Louisa, look at me. "

The sun, or artificial white lights? Shorts and a T-shirt or a dress and lab coat?

A hand grabs my face and my eyes dart over to the person who did it, a growl starting in the back of my throat, a curse on my tongue, but anything I was going to say is choked off.

" Louisa. " Noah breathes out in relief. " Thank God your still alive. They wouldn't let me monitor the Trials so I had no idea what you were going through. I'm so sorry I let them take you out there. "

Was he lying? Can I trust him? Can I trust myself?

" Noah? " My voice cracks as I take in his familiar white lab coat, messy brown hair and thick rimmed glasses. He's alive. " I thought you and mom were dead. They were—they were torturing me and then, and then— "

Did that really happen?

" It's okay, now. " He says. " You may have one and a half legs, be covered in scars, and you're losing your mind, but it's okay. You're alive. And that's something to be thankful for. "

" How do I know I can trust you? " I ask, my voice thick with tears. " How do I know you don't hate me like our—your—mother does? "

His green eyes are glossy. " Because, we may not share the same blood, but I _am_ your brother. And I am here for you Louisa. "

All those times in the Scorch when I cried because I thought he was dead, the things I said, the things I did. The grief, the anger, the sadness and sorrow. All of it was for nothing. Because he's alive. Noah, he's alive. Living, breathing, surviving.

One of the men dressed in black behind him sniffles.

" Let's go get breakfast. " Noah says as I sit up. " Piggyback ride? "

" It's the only way. " I say, while rubbing at my eyes. He turns his back to me and crouches, and I get on his back. He stands, and we leave the room and the crying scientists behind.

" First, we are stopping by your room. " He says, " I am not letting you in front of a bunch of people dressed like that. "

I laugh.

…..

We walk into the dining hall. I had put a black shirt on to go with my black running shorts, but I am still barefoot. I don't see the point in putting on one shoe, and it's just a foot. If someone doesn't like it, they can get over it.

The lights are softer in this room, reducing the gleam coming off of the metal tables. The clatter of silverware and chatter of people is too loud for me compared to the quietness of the past two weeks. My eyes automatically search the room for the Familiars, and I'm not surprised when I find them sitting together at the same table, laughing with each other and talking to girls from Group B. I hide my face on Noah's back.

" Where do you want to sit? " He asks me. I barely lift my head to reply.

" Away from anyone I know. " I'm not ready to face anyone else, considering I can barely handle being by myself. Even being in this room is causing my head to hurt, but I'm painfully hungry so I deal with it as Noah sits me down at a table on the opposite side of the room.

" I'll be right back. "

" Breakfast pizza, please. " I say to his back as he maneuvers between the people and round tables, making his way to the kitchens. I keep my head lowered just in case Minho sees me, because now he knows I'm alive, and he might start looking for me. I wouldn't know how to handle a conversation.

Although, my hair might be a giveaway.

I dare a glance up at their table and find every single one of them missing.

My heart skips a beat as I frantically look around. If they try to talk to me, I don't care if I'm missing half a leg. I will run, and I will get away.

" Everything okay? " Noah asks as he sits down, carrying two trays. He slides one over to me and I look down at the dull food, my stomach growling. It's breakfast pizza with eggs, cheese, onion, green pepper, bacon, ham, and sausage. Basically the most unhealthy, salty thing on the universe.

" Yea, it's fine. " I say, picking the slice up and taking a bite. It tastes orgasmic after the little bit of bland food I had in the Scorch. I drink from the cup of water on my tray, then take another bite.

" I have an idea on how to help you sort through real and not real. " Noah says, not touching his own plate of food. It makes me wary of mine, but I'm too hungry to care.

" What is it? " I ask through a mouth full of food.

" Ask me, and I'll tell you. "

My chewing slows and I narrow my eyes at him. I still don't know if I can trust him. But, since I can't trust myself, I have to trust someone who knew me before, right?

" When did I arrive at WICKED? "

" Age 14. Ava inserted the Swipe and constructed false memories so you would think you lived here. "

" Did I have any friends? " My pizza is forgotten on my plate.

Noah smiles. "A few. "

" Minho? "

" Yes. "

" Newt? "

" Mhm. "

" Thomas? "

" Not so much. " Noah says, finally deciding to eat his own food. I try to sort things into two different piles in my mind. I didn't arrive at WICKED when I was five or six, like I had originally thought. I arrived eight years later. I was still friends with Newt, Minho, Thomas. So I can trust them. Does that mean every memory I have of being at WICKED before the age of fourteen isn't true?

But why do they feel so real?

I guess the only way to gain confirmation about what's real and what isn't is to talk to people I think I know. Which means dealing with everything I've been through and thought I've been through.

Someone hugs me from behind.

" I thought you died. " Lee says in a breathy voice. How did I know that was going to happen? He plants a kiss on my cheek and then sits down next to me, too close for my comfort. I scoot away.

" I still hate you, Louisa. " Lee says, propping a hand under his chin. " I just missed you. "

How can you hate someone and miss someone at the same time? But, this must mean that I actually did trick Lee. I hurt him and then ran away into the Scorch.

Okay.

Progress.

" Noah, can I have a notebook? " I ask, electing not respond to Lee. I could feel his reddish eyes on me, looking at every scar that I collected in the Scorch. I rub my hand at the cut there from the glass, hating the way it itches.

" Yea. I'll bring one to your room. "

" Louisa, where is the rest of your leg? " Lee asks, finally noticing that I can't walk. I glance down at my leg, or lack of one, frowning.

" In the Scorch. "

He pulls me into a bone crushing hug. " What did they do to you? "

A harsh laugh escapes my lips. What didn't WICKED do to me? Here I am, talking to two people I thought were dead, about trying to figure out what is real and what isn't. My mind can't tell the difference between dreams and reality anymore, and I have more scars on my body than I care to count.

" Let go, Lee. Get over what happened because I'm trying to. " I say, pushing him off. I shove my tray away, no longer hungry. I want to go back to my room. I want to curl back into that ball and just sit there.

" What happened isn't something you can just get over, Louisa. "

He's right. I know he's right. I've survived the Trials, but at what cost? I'm missing half a limb, my body is scarred and aches constantly. My mind is fractured and broken and nothing makes sense. That's why I should just die. Noah is here. He is here to see the world saved, so I don't have to be here anymore, do I? Do I have to suffer any longer? There are no deaths for me to avenge, so what is my use? Why do I have to exist in such a hellish way?

What's the point of me living?

" I want to go back to my room. " I say, panic rising even though I'm fighting it. My hands start to shake and my heart is rattling in my chest. What is this? My breathing starts to speed up and soon enough I'm hyperventilating. I can hear Noah but I can't make out the words. They aren't comprehensive. I feel like I can't draw air in fast enough; am I being smothered?

Noah walks over to pick me up, but I can't trust him. He had a hand in tampering with my memories. What's to say he isn't going to do it again?

" Don't touch me. " I say, holding my hands out to keep him away.

" Louisa… " He keeps coming closer, concerned. My head feels light.

" Do not touch me! " I scream, standing. I wish I could walk away. I wish I could storm away. I don't want to be here with everyone. I'm right in the middle of WICKED headquarters, the people that took me from my family and tortured me. Someone is going to hurt me, someone is going to hurt me, someone is going to hurt me. There is no way I'm safe. There is no way I'm never getting hurt again.

" Lo? " I look over my shoulder and find Minho standing there, eyes wide. The rest of the Familiars are behind him, shell shocked. But I don't care if they see me roughy now; I just want to leave. Minho takes a cautious step towards me, like I'm a bomb ready to explode.

Him. He's familiar. I know him. I _have_ to know him. We were in the Scorch together. He carried me on his back for an entire night because I was passed out and couldn't walk. He helped me escape in the Maze after I thought I killed Reed, wanting to help but unwilling to let me go. He has been there for me when I needed him.

This was Minho, and I could trust him.

" Take me to my room, please. Minho. " I plead. I'm trembling as he picks me up; I wrap my arms around him and bury my face into his neck. People stare but I don't care. Everything is too loud and too quiet at the same time and I just want to leave.

We leave, entering the cool hallway. I immediately feel better, like I have room to breathe. But I'm still shaking, scared, that we'll run into someone and I'll get hurt again. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to get air in but unable to. The only thing I'm able to think about is the feeling that something bad is about to happen.

….

When I open my eyes again, I'm in my room and on my bed. The blankets are pulled around me and I'm curled into a ball, facing the wall. I'm calm, my breathing even, my heartbeat normal. My head is aching, but that's normal these days.

I must have blacked out.

Or maybe that didn't actually happen. What if Brenda comes in through the door, chastising me for not showing up for training on time? What if I never went into the Scorch?

My door opens and I sit up, half expecting to see her, long hair pulled back in a ponytail instead of cut short, but instead I find Minho with a cup of water in his hand and a notebook and pencil in the other. His hair is gelled up as usual, his clothes nearly the same he wore in the Maze. The familiar sight of him makes me want to cry for some reason.

" You okay? " He asks as I sit up. I wipe at my face, erasing any possibility of tears.

" I'm— " I stop. I'm not fine. I need help. I'm sick of lying. " Are you okay? "

He pauses, but walks forward and hands me the cup of water. I gratefully take it, my hands still a little shaky, causing ripples in the water inside. I take a sip.

" Honestly, no. " He laughs softly, a hand on the back of his neck as he sets the notebook and pencil on my bed.

" We're both screwed up then. " I try to laugh, but it comes out too forced. " What's the matter with you? "

Any thoughts about the two lives in my head leave for just the briefest of seconds.

" Nightmares. What about you? " He says it like it's no big deal, but I know that nightmares are hell. That they haunt you throughout the day and come to life in the darkness of your sleep.

I don't hesitate to tell Minho about what happened. I feel as though he's the one person I could trust. Sure, I can trust Noah to an extent, but I know Minho. It's just a shame he doesn't know me.

" They finally removed the Swipe. " I say, taking a deep breath. I scoot back until I hit the wall and hug my knee to my chest. Minho sits next to me, his hand resting in between us.

" I thought you already had yours removed. " I look at his hand, how clean it is. How clean he is. In the Maze and Scorch there was always a layer of dirt on his skin and clothes, but now, save for a few scars, his skin looks smooth.

I shake my head no. " They lied. They were feeding me memories, sad, happy, that feel so real. When they removed the Swipe, everything got scrambled in my head and I can't— " I take a shuddering breath, " I don't know what's real, Minho. "

He grabs my hand and holds it in his, rubbing circles on my thumb. " I know I won't be of much help with things before the Maze, but everything during the Trials I can help you with. "

Months worth of memories he could help me with. Him and Newt. All of the Familiars can help me. I shouldn't have pushed them away these past two weeks, but I needed time to cope. Which I'm still not really doing but now I'm reaching out. I'm just glad that Minho, _Minho,_ is here.

I look down at our joined hands on the bed. " Thank you. If there is anything I can ever do to help you with your nightmares, please, let me know. You've done so much for me. "

" I will. " He says through a yawn.

I notice the bags under Minho's eyes, dark and prominent. How bad are his nightmares? Are they like mine, where everyone I've ever seen die blames me for their deaths? Or does he dream of his friends dying? Either way, he needs sleep. His eyelids seem heavy, and their dropping further and further by the second.

" Lay down, Minho. Sleep. " I move forward to the edge of the bed, grabbing the notebook and pencil on my way. Minho falls over, his head landing on the pillow I've clutched to my chest so many times, wondering while I was still here. I open the note book to the first crisp white page, and I put the pencil on it. As soon as I go to write something down, the first memory, all words in the english language fly out of my mind.

And a hand clamps down on my bicep.

" Minho? "The word ends in a slight squeal as he pulls me back, causing me to fall next to him. He hugs me close, his hands on my waist and side as he nestles his head in the crook of my neck. " Minho..? "

" Shh. Sleep. " His hair tickles my cheek. A few moments later he's snoring softly, lost to the realm of sleep. I hope he isn't having a nightmare, but by the relaxed look on his face, I'd say he isn't. He seems peaceful, with no sign of stirring anytime soon. I don't close my eyes for fear of remembering something or fear of waking up and having this be nothing but a dream.

But, eventually, my eyes drift shut and I fall asleep with Minho's arms around me.

* * *

 **So that just happened. Louisa has completely lost her mind.**

 **And that was my attempt at writing a panic attack, by the way. I've only ever had one before, and that was a couple of years ago. I don't really remember what it was like so I used my trusty friend google.**

 **If you think that Louisa's POV is all over the place, it's me trying to figure out how the hell you write in someone's head that's like that. I mean dang. She'll constantly be doubting herself and others, never really fully trusting anyone.**

 **I always get so nervous when I post a new story, ugh.**

 **Have a nice day, evening, morning, afternoon, night, I'm going to go eat my breakfast and try to figure out why the hell my cover isn't loading.**


	2. Chapter 2

**THE COVER LOADED AND I DECIDED I DIDN'T LIKE IT THAT MUCH**

* * *

I haven't left my room in the three days it's been since my panic attack. Minho has spent most of his time in here with me, watching as I doodle memories on the notebook and answering any questions I might have. He tells me about his nightmares, and I listen. Because that's what he needs me to do. He told me that when I am by his side the nightmares are easier to handle, and that always makes me smile. At least, even in this broken down state, I can help the single friend I know I have.

But, we're still waiting for WICKED to make their move. It has been two and a half weeks since we arrived from the Scorch—or at least I think it's been that long—and they've done nothing but tell us they didn't actually have the cure and that we would be getting our Swipes removed.

I look down at the wilted flower I was drawing. It's looks depressing and sad, and more like a bunch of scribbles, but my hand is shaking so bad I don't know if I'll be able to draw a straight line. This happens a lot, the shaking. It comes over me suddenly, blanketing me in an icy cold fear that I can never escape until it decides I've been tortured enough.

Minho glances at me from his seat on the bed. He is laying down, holding a book above his face. His eyes scan the pages with a mild interest, but I know his mind is on other things. I wouldn't be able to concentrate enough to read a letter, much less a three hundred page book. I doubt he can either.

My hand starts to move on the page again in a different area. This time, instead of a wilted flower, this one is vibrant and full of life. The lines are a little shaky, but they still form the shape I want them too. I draw rolling dunes behind the flower and a dark building in the distance, a collision of two memories I can't figure out. They feel like they've been mushed together.

" You okay? " Minho asks.

Green flickers onto the tan color of the sand dunes; flowers pop up everywhere. WICKED headquarters is replaced with a small, quaint house that had lights coming from within. But then the Scorch comes back, full force, making my head ache.

" Lo? "

Green hills and colorful flowers or dull sand and intense heat? Which one do I believe? _Which one is real?_

Minho's hand is on my shoulder. Startled and knocked out of the stupor I was in, I look up at him then back down at my drawing. Dark, harsh lines have been scribbled over the small, delicate flower. The tip of my pencil is broken, the wood at the end flat from where I rubbed it across the page even after it broke.

" I'm sorry. " I say in a quiet voice. I bury my face in my hands. Even thought Minho told me everything that happened in the Maze and the Scorch, and I know that what I remember about those is true, I'm still having fits. He's done all he can to help, and it still isn't good enough. I'm still not fixed.

 _Weak, useless, worthless, selfish._ The words repeat in my mind, each and everyone of them aimed at myself.

" Hey, hey, hey, " He says, grabbing my wrists and pulling my hands away from my face, " It's not your fault. Whatever you're thinking, it is not your fault. "

Is he going to betray me too? Like my mom? Like Newt?

" I'm sorry. " I repeat again, " I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm—"

" It's okay, Louisa. You don't have to apologize. " His hands are on my cheeks, forcing me too look at him instead of the white tiles of the floor.

A knock on the door startles us both. Minho raises an eyebrow, a silent question, and I shake my head yea. It's probably just my brother bringing me some more pencils or maybe some colored pencils. Minho releases my face and pulls the door open. I busy myself with cleaning my mess up: pencils, erasers, torn sheets of paper. The dresser in my room is mostly a storage for notebooks and pencils now, with little to no clothing in them. I've elected to wear sweatpants and tank tops a majority of the time, other times wearing running shorts and a plain t-shirt. My hair is always pulled away from my face in a high ponytail that goes down to the middle of my back.

The door shuts. I close the dresser drawer, shoving my haunted memories away, and take a deep breath. _No one is going to hurt you as long as Minho is here._ I tell myself. _You are fine. You are safe. Just focus on the now, not the past._

I turn around.

And once again wish I could run.

It's Newt, standing there next to Minho who was rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. Newt looks drained and tired, but somehow more well-rested than I've ever seen him. His blonde hair is longer than it used to be, his chocolate brown eyes more hollow. How much death has he witnessed?

" Newt. " I breathe out, shakily. I told myself I wouldn't think about the past, but it's rushing back at me, snapping and biting. Newt and I pranking someone. Newt breaking his toe and me scolding him for being so ignorant and idiotic. Newt wiping mashed potatoes off of my face, and me smiling at him. My fingers itch for a pencil to write or draw it out, so I could look back on it, but then the memories from the Maze and the Scorch come back, hot and searing. Newt defending me against Reed. Newt helping me when I broke my foot. Newt and I having a flour fight and actually laughing.

Me lying to Newt about his sister. Him pushing me away.

Newt holding me down while someone amputated my leg.

" Hey, Louisa. " Newt smiles, but it doesn't seem natural. It seems forced. " Are you okay? "

I move into a kneeling position, my feet tucked under me and my hands i my lap. My shoulders are hunched over—it would be too much of an effort to sit up straight.

" No. "

He looks taken aback by my blunt answer. He smooths it over with concern, and takes a step towards me. My heart starts to race. _Is he going to hurt me? Am I in danger?_

" What happened? " He asks as he sits down in front of me, a good five feet away. Minho moves and stands next to me, arms crossed over his chest.

" Don't want to talk about it. " _I don't feel like crying._

" Fair enough. " Newt sounds hurt that I won't open up to him, but he can't expect me to after what he did. " What have you been doing these past two weeks? "

I don't look at him. I busy myself with fiddling with my thumbs, unsure if I want to vocalize what I've been doing these past couple of weeks. Barely eating, barely sleeping, barely moving. They have probably been worried about me, and all I've done is stay inside of my own bubble.

 _Selfish._

I look down at the lead smeared on my finger tips and shrug. " Nothing much. " Will he hate me if I tell him? Do I care if he hates me? Does he already hate me?

I don't know if I want to deal with this right now.

I don't know if I _can_ deal with this right now.

" I'm sorry. " I say, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. " I'm sorry I haven't really left my room. I'm sure I made you needlessly worry. I tend to do that a lot. " I laugh lightly, but it feels too forced to me. Newt tries to smile, but it falls.

I glance up at Minho and find that book in his hands again, a majority of his attention on it. He's leaning against the wall, but his eyes flicker up every once in a while. When he catches me looking at him he smiles, but I can't find the energy to smile back.

An awkward silence settles over us. Newt glances around the room, although, I suspect it's no different from his own. The only difference is the sketches and notebooks in my dresser.

" I've been drawing. " I say, breaking the silence. He turns his attention towards me, an eyebrow raised. " I mean, I'm not very good at it and I'm just drawing to keep my sanity but it helps. "

Minho scoffs.

" I can show you, if you'd like. " I say while glaring over my shoulder at Minho. He grins at me. " They're just messy sketches. "

" Yea, sure. " He says, smiling. I turn away and crawl the couple of feet to my dresser, which Minho is leaning next to. It was a white wooden dresser, because apparently WICKED can't allow anything that's a color other than white in their facilities.

My hands shake as I pull the drawer open. There are twenty or so sketches in here, some with color, some without. I shove the one with the scribbled out flower to the side and pull out a few others that I'm not too proud of, but I wouldn't mind letting Newt see them.

They're everything I feel put on a page. Will he be able to figure that out?

 _What if he judges me? What if he laughs at me?_ The thoughts spin through my mind but I force them away and turn back around, the delicate pages held lightly between my trembling fingers. I crawl back towards Newt, finding his eyes trained on the top one.

" These are what I've drawn the past couple of days. " I set them down in front of him while avoiding looking at him. The top one he's looking at is one of the first few I drew: the cafeteria of WICKED headquarters with all of the people I thought were my friends seated at a single table with smiles lighting up their faces. But, there are a couple more, such as the person who my extra set of memories tells me is a part of my family.

" Who are these people? " He asks. We are all young in it—ten or eleven I'd say.

I point at the person on the far right, " That's Lee. " His hair is shorter but still just as messy, and his cheeks are more chubby. He honestly looks adorable, but this person does not exist anymore. The Lee I know may be the least bit nice, but I'm uncomfortable around him.

I point to the person next to him, on the left, " That's Minho. " His hair isn't as gelled up as it is now, and it's shorter. His features are a little less defined. " The person next to him is Teresa. " Her hair is a little longer than it is now, and it cascades around her shoulders.

I skip a person, because I don't want to delve into that mindset right now. " That's you. " I smile softly, thinking about the boy Newt used to be. Or the person I think he used to be. Did he ever actually break his toe? Did we ever pull pranks together? My throat tightens. Why can't I tell the difference between what's real and what isn't? Will I be left like this forever? Stuck in my own mind, lost in a fictional world, wandering down memory lane.

Worthless.

" Louisa? " Newt questions, waving a hand in front of my face. " You okay? "

" Huh? " I ask, blinking while looking up. I feel something warm slide down my cheek and I hastily wipe it away.

Minho pushes off from his spot leaning against the wall, " Maybe you should go for today Newt. "

" Minho, I'm fine. " I say, clearing my thoughts away and crossing my arms over my chest.

" I know, but I need to go get our dinners. "

I huff. " Fine. Make sure you get us something good. "

Newt stands. He seems hesitant to go, like he might not see me again. He takes two steps towards the door, stops, then turns around and walks back towards me. He leans over and my eyes widen, panic fluttering in my chest. _Is he going to hurt me?_

But he just kisses the top of my head and mumbles goodbye.

….

The door shuts behind us and Minho looses a shaky breath.

" What's wrong with her? " I ask as we walk towards the cafeteria. I'm pissed off that Minho is spending most of the day and even some of his nights in her room yet she won't even come out and say hi to us. But when I walked into that room, I was shocked. She seems perfectly healthy on the outside save for her missing leg but there is a darkness lurking behind her eyes. A storm of sorts.

Gone was the confident girl who would do whatever it took to save her family.

Minho seems to hesitate. " Louisa…. She's lost her mind, Newt. "

" We all have. " I say, but my voice shakes.

He shakes his head while running a hand through his hair. " We've been traumatized. She has been broken. "

I take a deep breath. I know that. That happened in the Scorch when I let Jorge butcher her leg off. Is it my fault she's like this? I saw what happened in the cafeteria, how she regarded her brother with such distrust and refused his help. She was frantic.

" What did they do to her? "

" It's not my place to say. " He shoves his hands into his pockets as we walk into the cafeteria. There aren't many people in here yet, since dinner isn't supposed to be here for another half hour. But the Gladers are in here, laughing and joking around, but I can see the shadows in their eyes. " Have you seen Thomas? "

" Tommy? " I say, worry twisting my gut. " I haven't seen him. "

Two and a half weeks, and Thomas is still missing.

Bloody hell. I am supposed to lead these people in Alby's absence. Not fail them. But we survived, and that will have to be good enough for them, but Thomas…. He could be dead.

I grab a tray of food and Minho grabs two. It's soup and salad, and because of the amount of food the tray seems heavy. I glance over at Minho, to see if he's struggling, but he doesn't seem to be.

" Why don't you come say hi to the Gladers? " I say. We haven't seen him much, and we haven't had a conversation with him in a couple days. He shakes his head no.

" It's not safe to leave her by herself for long. "

Something in my mind ticks and anger flushes through my system. " What are you? Her bloody babysitter? "

" I'm the only one she trusts enough to let help her. And she needs as much of that as she can get. "

And with that, he walks away, a tray balanced in each hand.

I turn, and walk to the Gladers. They have their own trays in front of them, piled high with food. I sit next to Nandini, who seems to be tagging along with the Gladers wherever they go. I know she's my sister, but I don't know her very well. She seems to really like that kid, Blake, and she's sarcastic, but other than that I don't know anything. If I could just get the Swipe removed…

I look down. The soup seems to be a vegetable soup, with green beans, corn, onion, potatoes floating in a brown broth. The salad has crisp green lettuce with carrots, red cabbage, cheese and a vinaigrette dressing. It looks good enough. Nothing fancy.

" Minho bringing Louisa food again? " Frypan asks before taking a bite of soup.

" Yea. " I say, ignoring the bitterness in my own tone.

" Did you go see her? " Nandini asks. Her food hasn't been touched, but her cheeks aren't as hollow as they used to be so she must be eating. I nod my head yes in answer to her question. " Is she okay? "

" We all saw her, " Frypan says, a shiver going down his spine. " Kicking and screaming and wanting them to let her die. "

My stomach twists. _Just—just let me rot in that room!_ She had screeched it so loud I think everyone in this facility heard her.

" She's not okay. " I say, my voice quiet. " Minho said she's lost her mind, and just by observing her mannerisms and comparing it to how she used to be, he's right. "

Everyone's face seems to fall. " And Thomas? " Clint asks.

" The shank could be dead for all I know. "

They're all silent for the rest of the meal. I suspect I know what's going through their head, because it's the same thought I'm having: will anything ever be normal again?

…..

" Hey, Louisa. " Minho says, through a mouthful of salad. He swallows before continuing. " Have you tried writing to help sort your memories out? "

I swallow my bite of soup. I haven't touched my salad; it's too green for me.

" Considered it, why? "

He shrugs from his spot across from me on the floor. " The drawing doesn't really seem to be helping much. I mean, your drawings are amazing—better than I could do—but when you look at them your eyes just seem to unfocus and I can't get through to you. Sometimes for hours at a time. It scares me. "

I take a bite of my soup. It's salty something I've found every food here to be. The vegetables are practically raw and super crunchy-

Wait.

Did he say _hours?_

I look at him, eyes wide. " Hours? "

He nods. All those times that just felt like a few minutes…

There was a knock on the door.

Again? For the second time today? I don't want to see anyone else. I swear if that's Newt I will hide under my bed until he leaves. Then again, he probably knows I'm here. I need an excuse to get away. I put my soup bowl on the tray and start to crawl towards my dresser.

" I'm going to take a shower. " I mumble, pulling one of the drawers out and grabbing random clothes. I don't even know what I grab as I shut the drawer softly and crawl into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. The tiles are white, the shower head is silver, along with the rod supporting the shower curtain. The sink is white marble, with space to set things on either side. The tiles in the shower are a dark grey. Simple.

I don't take a shower. I just sit on the toilet seat with my foot tucked under me, my stomach growling from where I didn't finish my dinner. Am I this cowardly? The person could have been trying to check up on me and see if I was okay, but I ran away. I left Minho to deal with it. All because I was scared of whoever is on the other side of that door.

What if Minho wasn't here? I shake my head. I will not think about that.

What he said earlier, about the stories, is that really a good idea? Writing things out could help, yes, but what if they make things worse? What if I try to write a story, get lost, and end up making something up? That would just confuse me more, and make things worse.

I turn the water on in the shower as hot as I can stand it, and I get in. But I don't stand because that would be too difficult for me to do—just like everything else. So I sit in the corner, letting the hot water cascade over me causing my hair to fall around me and drip water into my eyes.

 _Weak, useless, worthless, selfish._

* * *

 **I know what I'm doing with this story now, aND I AM SO EXCITED YOU HAVE NO IDEA.**

 **Next chapter we start off with the book. Be excited because I am!**

 **{ review responses }**

 **The Tezzerax ~ Thank you so much. I was so worried that it would come across weird and forced or something.**

 **Chipmunk1123 ~ Thank you. :) It really must be confusing for her.**

 **doggirl212 ~ It was a bug on the website, but thanks anyway. I'm glad I got the panic attack right! I was a little worried about that too. Minhlo is cute.**

 **{ end of review responses }**

 **I really hope Louisa gets this sorted out soon. It's so challenging to write in her POV, and I'm so scared I'm going to mess it up because her mind state is so fragile and its constantly changing.**

 **I guess the fact that i'm so worried about his means I'm branching out with my writing? I don't know. I'm just going to go start the next chapter of my other fanfiction.**

 **Have a good day, evening, morning, afternoon, night!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Please pardon any typos, I wrote this all in one sitting. I also feel like the last half of the chapter is just... meh.**

* * *

I'm in a small auditorium with plastic black chairs set up in rows. People are scattered among them, talking in groups and laughing with each other. I put my feet on the chair and hug my knees to my chest while squeezing Minho's hand. He told me to do this when I was feeling uncomfortable, and right now, I want to hide.

"What's wrong?" He asked. I can feel everyone's eyes on me, judging and planning. They probably want to see if they can get me alone and then hurt me, like WICKED did. My eyes dart up for a brief second, catching Reed's a few rows ahead, and I quickly look down, my breathing speeding up.

 _He's going to hurt me, he's going to hurt me, he's going to—_

 _"_ Louisa, " Minho says, briefly abandoning his conversation with the Familiars. " I won't let anyone hurt you. None of us will. "

I glance sideways at everyone, who nod enthusiastically. Minho said I can trust them, but what if they betray me? I don't know them very well, and just because Minho believes them doesn't mean I will. Minho seems to notice this, because he leans close to me and mutters in my ear.

" We could have them share one of their memories of you, so you know that it actually happened and that you can trust them. "

After considering he words for a moment, I slowly nod my head. This might be a good thing. I can confirm some memories as real and try to believe these people that used to be my friends. That used to be as close to me as my family was, if not closer.

But I never had a family, so of course they're going to be closer to me. Unless they're lying. Unless they are working with WICKED to hurt me and make me more confused to isolate me from every living person. I can only trust myself and I'm not reliable enough for me to do that.

No, no. Minho. I have to at least trust one person.

" Louisa, " Frypan says, catching my attention, "You cooked dinner that one time… What was it? Oh, yea. You made rosemary chicken and it was the best thing any shank had ever made in the Glade."

Okay, that actually happened. I remember that, vaguely, and the day that it happened. Reed had threatened Newt the night before, and the next day I went into the Maze for the first time. I nod my head and Frypan smiles at me. I don't think he knows what he's done for me.

"Thanks, Fry." Out of the corner of my eye, I see Minho smiling softly.

"I helped when you broke your foot, although, you were unconscious for that." He rubs the back of his neck with his hand. It takes me a second, but I do remember his panicked voice through a dark haze. I nod my head again, unsure if I can keep my voice steady. _Deep breaths, Louisa._

The only person left to say anything is Newt.

I fight off a jittery feeling. He distanced himself from me, I think, when I told him about his sister. There are so many things he could say; he could easily alter my opinion of him if he really wants to. It's not like I have any concrete proof to go against him with. I only have what I think happened, what could have been planted into my mind by WICKED.

He opens his mouth to speak but Minho's voice distracts us all.

"Well I've been shucked and gone to heaven! It's Thomas!" He loud voice startles me, causing me to jump. I glance behind me and see Thomas walking into the room, wearing clothes similar to what I thin they wore in the Maze. He looks like shit, but I'd say all of us do after what we've been through.

Hoops and cheers fill the room, and I cover my ears with my hands and put my head on my knees. I can feel the hard prosthetic on my left temple, something I'm still not used to.

"Well, at least you didn't bloody roll over and die, Tommy." I hear Newt's voice but I just squeeze my eyes shut. There are too many people talking at once, too many noises. I still have Minho's hand in mine, a lifeline, something I focus on instead of the noises. His hand is rough from the years in the Maze, and it's warm in mine. It's a pleasant feeling, something that feels secure and strong in the fragile world that is my life.

Thomas walks away. I don't know where he's going, just that it's away. That's one less person I have to deal with. One less person I have to sort through years worth of memories with.

"Lo?" Newt whispers into my ear. I jump, startled, my hand tightening around Minho's in the process. Out of the corner of my eye I see him glance over, and tense. "You had awoken from the Changing. I carried you from a pond in the Deadheads, to my room, and asked you to be my girlfriend."

 _And I said yes._

He pulls away and sits back down, trying a weak attempt at a smile. I feel Minho's eyes on me, but the memories from the Changing are surfacing, covering my vision and causing me to shut my eyes. Me and Newt meeting each other for the first time, him being shy, and me offering to eat lunch together. Newt wiping mashed potatoes of my face, us planning a prank. Me talking to Teresa and teasing her about her crush on Thomas. Finding out that Newt was going into the Maze and then confronting Ava Paige about it. And then, Newt, _Newt,_ jumping off of the Maze walls trying to kill himself because he couldn't handle it.

He couldn't handle it. Just like I can't handle this.

Minho's thumb begins to run over my knuckles as he talks to the Familiars. I don't open my eyes, because I don't want to see everybody. My fingers itch for a pencil to draw what I'm seeing out, but there aren't any and I'm not allowed to leave. Janson said there was some sort of important announcement—I don't particularly care, I just want to get myself together, but I don't want to leave Minho alone.

So settle for curling my toes in the chair ( I still don't wear shoes ), and tuck my chin between my knees. My long ponytail falls around either side of me, creating a curtain of sorts.

I hear a clap, "Alright," It's Janson, "Everybody take a seat. We have a few things to cover before we remove the Swipe."

Everyone falls silent, and I lift my head to find Janson standing at the front of the room. He's staring right at me, eyes mischievous, and I drop my head again, unable to hold his intimidating stare. My heart pounds in my chest. He was the one who removed my Swipe, who caused me all of this trouble. He's right here in this room, staring right at me.

"As you were informed in your one-on-ones," Someone sits down to my left, "the trials as you know them are over. We feel that your cooperation will be more beneficial if you have clear and unaltered minds. So, congratulations."

His voice, his voice, _his voice. "Are you going to cry, Louisa?" "Something to take away the pain…"_

No, no, no, no—I shouldn't have drank that. It caused all of this; it caused me to feel this way, to feel this confused and lost.

"Let's just slim it," Thomas says, his voice coming from my left. "Let's just hear what he has to say."

I don't want to hear it, and who is he telling to be quiet? I didn't hear anyone speaking. Did I space out again, like Minho said I've been doing?

" I'd rather stay stupid about my past," Frypan says, "Thank you very kindly."

Me too. I want to stay stupid about my past. Can I get them to put the Swipe back in?

"WICKED is good." Teresa says. I want to shake her and tell her they aren't, that they are the ones that caused her and her friends so much pain and suffering, but I can't be bothered. " Out of all the things I chose to write on my arm, I chose those three words. I say shut up and listen to what the man says. We can only understand if we get our memories back."

"I agree!" Aris yells and the room erupts into chaos. Two sides warring: those who want to remember, and those who don't. It's loud, making my head hurt. I release Minho's hand to cover my ears, to try and block them out, but it doesn't work. They're too loud, talking about memories and understanding WICKED. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, _I hate it._

"Shut the hell up!" I yell, and everyone falls silent, their eyes landing on the girl curled into a ball on her chair, clutching her head between her hands.

"Thank you, Louisa." Janson says then he addresses everyone. _No,_ I think, _Don't say my name._ "No one is going to blame you for the mistrust you feel. You've been pushed to your physical limits, watched people die, experienced terror in its purest form. But I promise you, well all is said and done, none of you will look back—"

"What if we don't want to?" Fry calls out. "What if we don't want our memories back?"

 _Please, please take mine away._

I reach over and grab Minho's hand, drawing light patterns on the back of it with my finger as a distraction from what's going on around me.

"Is it because you really have no interest in remembering or is it because you don't trust us?"

"Oh, I can't imagine why we wouldn't trust you." Frypan says. A spider, an itty bitty spider on Minho's hand. What should I draw next?

"Don't you realize by now that if we wanted to do something to hard you, we'd just do it?" Janson sighs and I can hear the exhaustion in his voice but I'm too busy imagining the creature I'm drawing on Minho's hand. Horns? Yes, Horns and wings and hooves. Sharp canines and long talons on the hands. A creature that could swoop in here and kill us all, thus ending our misery.

"If you don't want to remove the Swipe, don't do it. You can stand by and watch the others."

My finger stops.

 _If you don't want to remove the Swipe, don't do it._

I look up at Janson, my face full of fire. _I_ didn't have that choice. _I_ was taken advantage of in a moment of confusion for me. _I_ was forced to remember every single, little, thing.

Next thing I know, I'm standing.

"You asshole!" I growl, my fists clenched at my sides. "Why didn't I have that choice? You _drugged me_ and then took my Swipe out. You forced me to remember and now…." I let out a breathy laugh and ran my hand through my hair, probably messing up the ponytail but I don't care.

Janson grit his teeth. "Did you really want to spend the rest of your life not having any memory of your parents?" A shadowed face with chestnut brown hair flashes in my mind, but I force it away. " Your family and friends? I did you a favor, Louisa."

"Do. Not. Say. My. Name!" I scream. "You ruined my life! You've always been the one ruining it!"

He smiles, "Are you sure about that?"

I feel frustrated tears clawing their way up into my throat. I roughly sit down, putting my hands in my hair and keeping them there as I grit my teeth. He's right. I don't know if it was really him ruining my life, because I don't know if I was even at WICKED! In one case, with what Noah said, I didn't arrive at WICKED until I was fourteen. In the other I was a laughing, smiling, goofy kid. But I can't trust Noah, because he was part of the illusion.

"Now, I feel this is something I should tell you before you remember from the testing—if you decide to get the Swipe removed." Janson says, his hands clasped in front of him as if he didn't just cause me to have a crisis.

"What is it?" Harriet yells out.

"Some of you are immune to the Flare. But… Some of you aren't. I'm going to go through the list—please do your best to take it calmly."

No, no. I don't want to hear. I don't want to.

Everyone is silent. I swallow back against the lump in my throat.

"Just bloody get on with it," Newt says, "We all figured we had the buggin' disease anyway. You're not breaking our hearts."

Does he remember what I told him? Is what I told him true? Did I just imagine it?

"Yeah" Sonya adds, "Cut the drama and tell us already."

I want to bury my face in Minho's shoulder. I want to hide as Janson clears his throat. A feeling of dread envelopes me, and my fingers dig deeper into my scalp. No, no, _no._

"Okay," He says. My toes curl. "The following people are not immune: " _Please, let WICKED have planted that information in my mind as a lie, please._ "Isylia, Emily," Hope swells as he calls a couple more names, none of them being the one I'm dreading, but a few seconds later everything crashes down. " Newt…"

My hands fall from my hair and land in my lap. I look at him over the corner of my eye, already finding his eyes on me. His eyes are widened slightly, but he's forcing a smile. Like everything is fine. Like he's not slowly going crazy and becoming one of those monsters that hunted us down in the Scorch.

I stand on shaky legs and stumble towards him, unsure of what I'm going to do but Janson's voice rings out before I get more than two feet.

"Now, if you would follow me..." And he walks towards the door. People shuffle along, and I turn to follow but I catch Janson's eye and he smiles again. "Louisa, I leave you in Noah's capable hands."

My hand catches Minho's wrist as my eyes dart around the room, searching for my... Person. The Familiars shuffle past us, along with other people from Group B. Some are looking at me warily, like I might explode, but I'm looking past them. I find Noah walking towards me, his eyes downcast.

Realizing that I'm still clinging to Minho, I release his wrist, but he doesn't move from next to me. He's glaring at Noah, partially moving in front of me as if he could block me from his sight.

"Just…I'll be okay." I say, not really believing myself. "Minho, go with the Familiars. They need you."

He looks over his shoulder at me. "Are you sure?"

I reluctantly nod my head. He's been next to me for the past two weeks, never really leaving my side. He actually spent the night in my room most of those nights, scared to leave me by myself. The idea of him leaving kind of makes me nauseous, but I can't have him next to my side forever.

He glances at the Familiars, then at me. "I'll be back as soon as possible, I promise. Stay out of trouble, princess."

Minho kisses my head and walks away, just as Noah reaches me. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his white lab coat. His glasses slide down his nose as he looks down at me with his green eyes. I turn on my heel and walk away with a steady gait, thanks to the prosthetic WICKED made me. I hate having to rely on something they made, but it's the only way I'll be able to walk.

"Louisa," He says, but I keep walking. I leave the auditorium and go into the hall, making my way towards my room. I want to draw that creature I made up earlier. I want to draw those memories I remembered earlier as well, hopefully trying to make sense of which ones are real. There has to be a difference between the two, there _has_ to be.

"Louisa!" Noah raises his voice. I turn down the corridor and towards the rooms. My room is the only one in this area, oddly enough, with everyone else's being on the opposite side of the facility. They probably isolated me to deter me from getting help.

I slide the door to my room open, walk in, and prepare to slam it shut when Noah steps into the frame and prevents me from doing so. I glare at him.

"I'm sorry." He says. I thought he was dead for two weeks; I mourned the death of someone I don't even know if I know.

"Go away." I say, pushing on the door but he puts his hand up to keep it from moving.

"No, you have to get over this irrational fear of yours."

Is my fear irrational? There's no way I can rationalize anything at the moment, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to. If I trusted Noah, would he help me? He claims he loves me like I'm actually his family, but I highly doubt that. The easiest thing to do is to distance myself from him, to pretend like I never thought he was my brother.

"Fuck off, Noah."

He grits his teeth and doesn't move.

"Did you not hear me? Are you deaf? I said, _fuck off._ Do you know what that means, or do I have to spell it out?"

"Maybe my mom was right. Maybe you are nothing but an ugly brat." Noah storms away and I slide my door shut, biting my wobbling lip. I take a few shaky steps over to my dresser and grab pencils and paper, but my hands are trembling and I have to clench them to stop them.

Noah just called my an ugly brat. Minho was just taken by WICKED. Newt was just told he wasn't immune.

Perhaps that's all that's in the world: hurt. Everywhere I look I see nothing but tears and scars. In my mind that's all there is; not a single happy memory can be found. Nothing but people crying because they lost someone, or because they see the world is coming to an end. Nothing but the Flare destroying families and in some cases entire cities. There is no happiness there. Maybe I'm just not searching hard enough.

But, how hard should I have to search?

….

"Great," I say, "We lost our bloody chance."

" Slim it, " I hear Minho say, "There wasn't a chance in hell I was leaving Louisa here."

We didn't want to get the Swipe removed, so we were separated from the others and put in this room. There is a small kitchen, and two sets of bunkbeds. I'm sitting on one of them, staring at the top bunk, at least trying to calm my racing thoughts.

"She has her brother." I say, feeling irritated. We should have left when we had the chance—when we could get away. I now know for a fact that I have the Flare (Louisa has told me before but I assumed it was part of the trials.) and I don't want to spend my last few months here at WICKED. I want to see more of the world before I become… one of them.

"He's not her brother. He's an asshole." Minho mumbles. He turns to Thomas, "You and Brenda had a nice reunion."

Thomas takes a deep breath, and I sit up on the bed, narrowly missing hitting my head on the bunk above me.

"She said something. She said not to trust them—to only trust her and someone named Chancellor Paige."

Once again, I feel irritated. How can they trust Brenda after what she did in the Scorch? "Well, what's her buggin' deal anyway? She works for WICKED? What, was she just a bloody actress down in the Scorch?"

"Yeah, sounds like she's no better than the rest of them," Minho adds. I nod my head.

"Look, I used to work for them and you still trust me. Louisa used to work for them and you trust her, right? It doesn't mean anything. Maybe she had no choice."

Okay, he has a point. Especially considering that I was the one that told him that it didn't matter what he did before, that he had started something. _Get off your ass and finish what you started._ Brenda could be doing the same thing. But I still don't want to trust her.

I cross my arms over my chest just as the doors open. I half expect it to be someone from WICKED coming to kill us, but my sister's smiling face enters the room as she carries a tray full of food. My mouth waters at the sight of food, but how did Nandini get here without setting the guards off?

"I figured you guys might be hungry." She sits the tray in the floor, right in the middle of all three of us, and she steps back. The food on the tray looks delicious and hell, I think I even see candy.

"What are you?" Minho asks, narrowing is eyes at her, "A magician?"

"A girl has to have her tricks, right?"

Thomas agrees through a mouthful of food. "Newt, your sister's awesome."

I sit in the floor next to him, just taking a sandwich off of the stack. It's not a simple ham sandwich or something like that. There's chicken on it, onion, green pepper, tomatoes, melted swiss cheese. All between what I think is french bread, and wrapped in plastic cling wrap.

"Where did you find this stuff?" I ask, pulling the plastic back. She shrugs.

"Blake helped me make it while everyone was busy in the auditorium."

I bite into the sandwich. There has to be some type of sweet onion dressing on here, because it tastes heavenly. Almost rivaling Frypan's sandwiches, and his were delicious. Before I know it, I've finished most of it and I want more.

Nandini doesn't leave. She just leans against the wall next to the door, occasionally looking out checking for WICKED's guards that could come back at any moment. She looks clean, healthy, and I can't help but feel happy for her. Does she have the Flare like me? Is she immune? I want to know more about my family, and her. Could I do that before I lose my mind?

"I take it you aren't just here to give us food." Thomas says. She glances over, a mischievous smile on her face.

"I take it you guys are in here because you aren't cooperating." She pushes off the wall, arms crossed over her chest. "Lucky for you, I've been planning something the entire month we've been here."

My chewing slows. I look at Minho, and then Thomas. They share the same confusion in their faces, but we all know we want to escape. We don't want to be here. I have a feeling that's her plan, but I don't know if I can trust her. Is she like Brenda, put in the Scorch as a variable?

"What plan?" Thomas asks. She rolls her eyes as if he just asked a stupid question.

"The plan to escape, of course." She sits down next to us in the floor, raising an eyebrow. "You guys in?"

I may be stupid, but I want to trust her. If she really is my sister, maybe she can tell me more about my family, and I won't go crazy without the knowledge of home. Minho opens his mouth to say something, probably about how he won't do any plan unless Louisa is safe, but I respond for us all.

"We're listening."

* * *

 **Sorry if the story is slow at the moment, but I've got big plans for this finale, and I have to set them up. The story should start picking up around Chapter 5. Also, not going to lie, this story will probably be a feels overload. Starting around chapter 10, maybe...?**

 **{review responses}**

 **doggirl212~ Thank you! It's challenging, but somehow I'm seeming to manage.**

 **Chipmunk1123~ I'm proud of Louisa and Newt and all of them. I feel so bad for Louisa, and now I feel bad for Newt and I feel bad for everyone. I'm letting the characters lead the ships, so nothing is official yet. But if they do end up rekindling their relationship, I will be very very very surprised.**

 **{end of review responses}**

 **I'm so excited for some reason. Also, I've decided you guys are getting updates on Fridays, and my other fanfic is being updated on Tuesdays. Yay!**

 **I had to reread parts of Fighting Against You, and I cringe. Omfg it was so bad. How did you guys stick around for this long? I probably would have dropped it, not just because of poor writing but because of poor everything. It was horrible. I bet my writing still isn't that good, but I'm improving! Hopefully.**

 **Anyway, I'm having steak for dinner, so I have to go eat. Have a good day, evening, morning, afternoon, night!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Damn guys, I'm sorry I haven't updated. Explanation in the author's note at the bottom.**

 **Pardon any typos, I wanted to get this out as fast as possible.**

* * *

 _Maybe my mom was right, maybe you are nothing but an ugly brat._

Noah said that despite the fact he isn't my biological brother, he is still my brother in some sort of way. And then he goes and says that one phrase that I can't get out of my mind, and I feel my heart constricting. If he is willing to say stuff like that about me, someone who said I could trust him, then what's to stop anyone else from doing it? Newt, Minho, Frypan. Maybe they're all just liars.

i clench my fists so hard my fingernails break the skin on my palm. I haven't seen Minho in a day or two, and I miss having him around. Without him I'm just a broken mess that just lays in the floor or scribbles on paper. He was keeping me stable, and now he's gone. Knowing WICKED, they probably killed him and I'm by myself again.

I twirl the pencil in my fingers, staring at the thing I'm drawing. It's a portrait of somebody with short hair and soft cheekbones, a wide smile and bright eyes. I'm not using colored pencils for this. I'm focusing on my shading and getting the proportions to match what I see in my mind. It's pretty good, but it could be better.

Not only that, looking at this drawing is giving me a headache. The fluttering panic is still there, lodged so deep inside me I don't think I'll ever be free of it. This person could be manufactured by WICKED, or they could be my mom. Someone I actually know and actually care for, or someone I think I know and have false feelings for.

I let out a shaky breath and push the notebook away. I want to go help Minho, but I'm scared to leave my room. I'm scared of Janson, of Noah, of seeing Mrs. Kittredge walking around the facility. Minho might be hurt—everyone might be hurt—and all I can do is sit here and sketch. I can feel the familiar lump forming in my throat at my own helplessness.

Weak, useless, worthless, selfish. An ugly brat.

If I wasn't so scared of death I might kill myself.

My door slides open. I jump up to my feet, raising my fists in what will be a feeble attempt to protect myself. My pencil is still in my hand. If I aim it right I can stab it in their eye and push it further and into their brain, but I don't want to kill anymore people. I don't want to see anymore faces haunt my nightmares.

"Louisa, calm down. It's me." Nandini walks into the room, hands in front of her as if I might attack her.

"Tell me something we did together." I say, not even bothering to drop my hands or the pencil. If she's here and alive, she could work for WICKED. She might be here to harm me. My hands started to tremble.

"You got me out of WICKED's basement. Of course, you got electrocuted in the process but you refused to kill me." She dares a step closer.

"Are you here to impose any harm to me?"

She grins and my grip tightens on the pencil, "No, I'm here to get you out."

"Why?" I ask. She has no reason to help me. In fact, I'm pretty sure she used to hate my guts and that she tried to kill me in the Scorch.

"Because I promised my brother I would get you out safely." Her eyes soften.

"A promise between siblings means _nothing."_ I hiss. Even if it is Newt, he might not mean it. I trusted Noah and look where I am now.

Footsteps sound from outside my door, seemingly frantic and rushed. I take half a step back. Voices raise and Nandini makes sure the door is shut all the way before turning to me. Her posture is no longer relaxed, instead tensed and on edge.

"We can't wait around any longer. We have to go."

There she goes again. "Go where?"

No where. I will stay here and wait for Minho. I will not leave this place because if I go outside, WICKED will just hunt me down again so they can torture me. At least here I can try to be small and insignificant and just sort through my memories. WICKED will never leave me alone. Running might just make things worse.

"To Minho. To Newt, to freedom Louisa. Isn't that what you've wanted?"

To Minho? To comfort and trust and some sense of normalcy?

"You have to come with me. He refuses to leave you here. Are you going to get him killed?" She puts her hands on her hips and raises an eyebrow at me. She might be lying. She might be trying to lure be out so she can take me to WICKED and kill me.

But I don't want to risk having Minho die.

"If you try _one_ thing, I swear to god you will—"

"Regret it, I know, I know." She waves my threat off and starts to walk towards me, but I take another half step back. _Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't touch me._ Her hand locks around my wrist, and she pulls me to the door and puts a finger to her lips. I want to scream at her for touching me, to scream at her for thinking she can do that. The pencil is still in my hand, my fingers are wrapped tightly around it.

A small comfort, but still one nonetheless.

Voices fade, and Nandini opens the door. The hallway's cool air floods into my room and I take a deep breath to steady myself. The lights suddenly cut out, coating me in darkness and making my heart stumble. My breathing speeds up and I squeeze my hand, expecting Minho's to be there, but instead I find a pencil that's beginning to splinter.

Dark, dark, Janson, lightning, Cranks, Grievers _, dark, danger, help._

A red light follows, flashing dimly and casting shadows. I stick closer to Nandini as she goes away from the direction of the cafeteria and towards a place I haven't been. I force myself to grit my teeth and focus on the next step instead of where the next step may lead me. My hip aches, my scars itch, my hair tickles my bare shoulders due to the tank top I'm wearing.

Nandini is also wearing a tank top, and I can just barely see faint scars on her shoulders. Her hair is braided and on one side of her shoulders, slightly frizzy. My footsteps echo hers, although she is wearing boots and I don't have any shoes on. Why didn't I grab any shoes? It would have been the smart thing to do, and here I am now leaving the facility without anything to protect my feet—foot. If we get chased, my foot will ache and I'll just slow Nandini down. I'll get her killed.

An alarm cuts through the relative silence, blaring loudly and causing me to flinch.

 _Dark, scary, Minho, Minho, Minho, help._

There are a pile of guards, unconscious, on the floor. They appear to be black lumps at first glance, but Nandini ignores them and walks past, through a waiting room. I want to sit down in one of the many chairs and curl into a ball, just to try and forget what's going on around me. But Nandini still has a strong hold on my wrist and shows no signs of letting go any time soon.

"In here." Nandini says, opening the door to what looks like a weapons depot. There are guns missing—you can tell by the dust patterns on the wall—and I wonder what happened. The last time I saw everyone they were getting the Swipe removed, which made me assume that they were just going to be okay with what WICKED has done. But, what if they've—

"Arm yourself." She says, shoving a pistol in my hands. I squeak, dropping the gun and the pencil on the floor as memories flood into me relentlessly. Tall grass, a wooden post, a tin can glinting in the sunlight. The weight of a gun in my hand, sure and steady but also a nervous energy flitting in my stomach.

Nandini lets out a curse and picks the gun up. "Get yourself together! We are escaping WICKED and you can't be holding us back."

"I'm sorry." I breathe out, my hands shaking. I stumble back until I hit the wall, and slide down it. I want to draw; I need to draw, to get what I saw on paper, but I can't. I start to trace it on the back of my palm with my fingertip, but it isn't the same. I need to _see_ it drawn out. "Just, just give me a moment."

I squeeze my eyes shut and trail my finger on my hand again. _Focus on the shapes, Louisa._ I tell myself that, pressing harder and harder until my hand starts to burn from the marks my fingernail is making. _Shapes. Focus._ A narrow wooden post with pale grass surrounding it. A tin can on the post, slightly dented and deformed. The metal barrel of a pistol. _Focus._ There's a voice—I know I can't draw that, but if I could just remember what it's saying…

"Louisa?" I open my eyes and find Minho crouching in front of me. He looks down at my hand and the harsh red lines scratched into my skin that vaguely form the picture I had in my mind. "You okay?"

 _Minho._ I wrap my arms around him, burying my head in the crook of his neck. Feelings of comfort and safety envelop me with their warmth. The memory is still in the back of my mind, taunting me, but it seems less prominent now, like it's fading fast. The details become hazy and soon all I can remember is the weight of a gun in my hands.

"Look at the dust patterns," Newt says, and I bunch Minho's shirt in my hands to prevent from covering my ears. He needs to be _quiet._ "It's pretty obvious that some guns have been taken recently, maybe within the last hour or so."

Can they please keep their mouths shut? I need to concentrate, I need to calm down.

"Why is that so important?" Minho asks, and I feel his head shift. _You idiot, Louisa, he has other things to do rather than comfort you,_ I think and I start to relax my arms and pull away, but his grip tightens ever so slightly.

"Can you figure something out for yourself for once, you bloody shank!" Newt raises his voice and I flinch, but Minho tenses. Newt would not do this, not the Newt I know. Is this just a sign of the Flare that's eating his mind? How much longer until he completely loses it?

 _It's your fault._

"Woah, Newt." Thomas says, and I hear his footsteps walk closer into the room, "I know things suck, but slim it. What's wrong?"

I hear an intake of breath, "I'll tell you what's bloody wrong. You go all tough-guy without a plan, leading us around like a bunch of chickens looking for feed. And Minho can't take a bloody step without asking which foot he should use."

I pull away from Minho, stand up, and look Newt straight in the eye before I realize I'm even moving. I open my mouth to speak, but Minho beats me to it, his tone clipped with anger.

"Look, shuck-face, you're the one acting like a genius because you figured out some guards took weapons from the _weapons_ room. " Minho is standing now, his fists clenched, "I thought I'd give you the benefit of the doubt, act like maybe you'd discovered something deeper than that. We'll still keep you around though, might need a Crank to sniff out any other Cranks."

I flinch at the cutting remark as Newt clenches his jaw.

Then rushes forward and punches Minho. I stumble back, narrowly avoiding getting caught the fight. Minho throws a punch, catching Newt's cheek. Newt tackles Minho, causing them to fall to the ground in a mess of limbs. _No, no, no. Stop!_ Thomas tries to interfere, attempting to get between the two but it's nearly impossible. Brenda steps in, but she doesn't help much either.

"Minho!" I raise my voice, "Stop it!"

He's movements falter but don't stop. Thomas finally manages to get a hold on Minho's shirt and pulls him away, with Minho still falling and kicking and throwing punches. Thomas catches an elbow to his jaw, and I flinch at the impact.

"Are you two stupid?" He yells. Minho and Newt are breathing hard, faces red. I see the realization hit Newt, causing his eyes to gloss over. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but he turns around and storms out of the room, his fists clenched at his sides. So instead of talking to Newt, I turn on Minho.

" _We'll still keep you around though,"_ I say, lowering my voice in an imitation of his, _"might need a Crank to sniff out any other Cranks._ I might be out of my mind, Minho, but even I know that was insensitive as hell!"

I'm mad. I'm mad and infuriated at Minho but also at Newt and at myself. I'm pissed at myself. I shove a hand into my hair, my eyes starting to water. I was supposed to protect him from this, and I didn't. I haven't. I'm a failure. I am nothing but a failure.

 _Weak, useless, worthless, selfish._

"Lou—"

I leave Minho's side and walk out into the hall, ignoring him. Newt is standing there, a hand shoved into his messy hair, and a distressed look on his face. The red lights cast a glow in his eyes that frightens me, and his unpredictable behavior sets me on edge, but I refuse to walk away from someone who so obviously needs help. Especially after what I've done—or the lack of that.

I stop a good foot or two away from him. He notices me, but doesn't say anything. I want to help him, but I also want to ignore the problem and pretend like it isn't happening. Like Newt doesn't have the Flare and that he doesn't need my help. It would be so much easier to do that, but he needs someone. There's nothing I can do except be there for him as he goes through this. I know my presence won't do much good considering my own mental state, but I have to do _something._

I take a deep breath to steady myself and calm my racing heart.

And then I walk forward and give him a hug.

His head collapses onto my shoulder and he clings to me like I'm the only thing that can save him.

"I'm sorry." He says, his voice cracking, "I can't control it anymore, Lo. I'm scared."

"It's okay, Newt."

"I don't want to hurt people." My lip starts to wobble at the desperation in his voice, at how much he wants to cling to his sanity.

"It'll be okay," My voice isn't strong like I want it to be. Each time Newt and I touched is going through my head. The sparks, the heart flutters, the butterflies. Unshed tears cause my eyes to sting because of the barrage of memories, each one more painful than the last, but I don't let go of Newt because he needs someone to cling to. This is the least I can do.

"I'm here for you." I whisper. His shoulders start to shake and I feel the wet spots on my shoulder as he pulls me closer to him. I force myself to silence the thoughts that are raging through my mind, that are telling me to pull away and not trust him.

Whatever happened before the Maze doesn't matter anymore. Newt… I think.. I think I can support him as a friend. We were together in the Maze; he was willing to kill Reed for me. He may have held me down as someone cut my leg off, but it was to save my life, right? Either way, one thing is clear: he was trying to protect me just as I was trying to protect him.

It looks like we both failed.

After his tears calm down, he mumbles a quiet thank you before pulling away. His eyes are red and puffy from crying, but there's some type of determination set in his features that causes my skin to prickle. He doesn't walk into the room like I expect him to—no, he walks away towards the direction of the waiting room.

 _What if WICKED gets him?_ I take a small step to follow him, but fear wraps around each of my limbs like a phantom chain, effectively keeping me in place. I fight the constricting in my throat and the worry rising up. He's not me. He's not weak and useless; he's strong and brave and—and…. And going absolutely insane.

"Louisa," Minho puts a hand on my shoulder, startling me and causing me to jump away. I put a hand on my chest as if I can calm my racing heart that way. "Sorry," He mumbles, "Where's Newt?"

I point in the direction of the waiting room. Minho nods.

"He'll find his way back." But he sounds unsure about it himself. "Here," He holds out a knife, "I don't want you to be unarmed."

The red light flashing above us makes the blade appear covered in blood, and I squeeze my eyes shut as my head pounds. Thinking about touching that filthy thing to potentially harm someone causes panic to flare. Nandini's words only make it worse. _We are escaping WICKED and you can't be holding us back._ But I can't touch a weapon without having a panic attack!

I open my eyes again. The knife is still there, but Minho looks worried again. He's watching me with cautious eyes as if I might explode at any moment. Frustration rises up, causing me to clench my teeth. Minho shouldn't have to worry about me so much. He has a billion of other things that are a billion times more important than me, a mentally unstable and useless girl.

I reach out, hands shaking, and grab the knife. It's heavy—too heavy and I want to throw it down the hallway and into the darkness to just forget about it, but I have to defend myself. I want to rely on Minho, but I can't. I can't hold them back.

 _Don't be useless,_ I think, tightening my grip on the knife. Janson, stabbing me in the back and those men, slicing my forearms. My hand trembles. _Don't be useless—_

The knife slips out of my fingers and clatters on the floor as imaginary blades trace my arms. A weight disappears as I back away from it.

"I'm sorry." My throat tightens and tears of frustration bubble up, but I bite them back. No more crying. _No more crying._

"Don't worry about it, Louisa." He says, bending over to pick the knife up. _Don't say that; don't tell me not to worry about it._ I should be worried about it because I'll be holding them back if I don't defend myself in some way. An image cuts through my mind: a man, screaming, yelling at me to run.

I let out a shaky breath before it can speed up to the point of hyperventilating. "Let's just go back inside."

It's the last thing I want, but hopefully the room full of people will distract me from the memory trying to surface. Or maybe I'll have a panic attack. I grit my teeth and walk past Minho, resisting the urge to grab his hand. He's busy gathering weapons for everyone; I can't cling to him like I did when we were in my room together.

Thomas and Brenda are talking, and the rest are kind of moving at their own pace and grabbing pistols, some type of big gun, and knives. My stomach wants to reject the food I ate earlier.

"Anyway," Brenda says, "We talked about how increased levels of brain activity actually quicken the pace of destruction—it's called cognitive destruction. That's why that drug, the Bliss, is so popular with the people who can afford it. The Bliss slows down brain function. It lengthens the time before you go crazy. But it's really expensive."

So it's just a way of delaying the inevitable. I suppose that's nice, being able to make the dreadful wait for going crazy even longer.

"Do people still function—live their lives, go to work, whatever—when they're drugged out?" Thomas asks, his eyes alight with curiosity. It's a world we've never seen before. I would be curious too if I wasn't so concentrated on keeping this image, memory, _thing,_ out of my mind.

"They do what they need to do, but they're much more… relaxed about it. You could be a fireman rescuing thirty children from an inferno, but you won't stress if you happen to drop a few of them into the flames along the way."

A shiver goes down my spine at her words.

"I gotta get me some of that stuff." Minho mutters from behind my. I drive my elbow back into his stomach, not hard, just enough to hopefully knock some sense into him. He flicks the back of my head in retaliation—which doesn't help with the headache, by the way. I turn over my shoulder and glare at him, a hand on the back of my head.

"You're missing the point," Brenda says, " Think of the hell Newt has been through—all the decisions he's had to make. No wonder the Flare is moving so fast in him. He's been stimulated too much—way more than the average person living their life day to day."

So it's WICKED's fault. It's their fault for putting him through that hell and making the Flare move faster through his system. I clench my fists.

Thomas sighs, "Well, there's nothing we can do about it until we get somewhere safer."

"Do about what?" I turn and see Newt in the doorway, eyes still red and bloodshot.

"Nothing, never mind—where'd you go?" Thomas asks.

"I need to talk to you, Tommy. Just you. It'll only take a second." His brown eyes dart over to me for half a second, and I want to ask him if he's okay. If he has suppressed the Flare enough to escape WICKED.

"What's this crap?" Minho says. My head starts to pound.

"Just cut me some slack—"

" _Run Louisa! Don't let them catch you!" His eyes are red from tears, "Please!"_

"—Tommy and no one else."

"Whatever, go for it." Minho says, grabbing one of the big guns and slinging it over his shoulder. I put a hand on my head and squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could just massage the headache away as white spots swim across my vision. "But we—"

" _Don't just stand there—run!" The sound of marching feet fills my ears. His eyes are wide as they focus on something behind me, "Run!"_

" _But dad—" My voice sounds thick with tears._

" _Go, Louisa. I won't be able to live with myself if WICKED catches you because of me."_

 _Someone grabs me and I flail, kick, try to do something—_

"Louisa!" Minho is shaking my shoulders, and I open my eyes, nearly jumping out of my skin. I notice that I'm on the floor, head between my hands, knees pulled tight to my chest. Everyone is silent, eyes on me but Thomas and Newt are no where to be seen.

"I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay." I say the phrase multiple times, trying to get the feeling of those hands off of my waist. This is one memory I don't want to draw. It's painful and sad and confusing. Who even knows if it really happened? What if I'm dreaming right now, and I'll wake up in my room with Minho next to me? No, no, this is reality ( I think ) and we're trying to escape WICKED so I have to get my shit together.

"Tell me." Minho says softly, the thing he always does after I end up like this.

"I don't know where we were but there was another person there, someone I called dad, " The words come out in a rush as I stare at a spot on the floor, "He was screaming at me to run but I wouldn't; I was frozen in place and then someone grabbed me from behind."

It doesn't sound like much when I say it out loud, but it feels like someone just dumped a bucket of cold water on me.

"Deep breaths," Minho mumbles, "Count to ten."

 _One._

 _Two._

WICKED took me from my father.

 _Three._

 _Four._

 _Five._

I am currently in WICKED, surrounded by people who have be put through the worst things imaginable.

 _Six._

 _Seven._

They are trying to escape so they can be safe.

 _Eight._

 _Nine._

 _Ten._

I am going with them.

I look around at the people surrounding me, who are looking at me like I'm fragile. I force myself to my feet, no matter how much my legs shake. They are leaving so they can be safe. Safety is the one thing I crave, the thing I need so I can regain my sanity and _live._ Not just survive.

So I have to push the memories away and forget about them just for the next few hours. Right now, something far more important is happening and I won't be the one that drags them down to their deaths. I won't be a leader either, but I can still hold my own instead of depending on Minho.

"Are you good, Louisa?" Frypan asks. I nod my head yes, even though my hands are still shaking ever so slightly.

"We are going against WICKED," Nandini says, arms crossed over her chest, "You can't freeze up like that again. Are you sure you're ready to fight?"

Yes, no, maybe. I just know I have to try.

"Yea, I'm ready." I say, just as Newt and Thomas walk into the room. A slow smile spreads across Nandini's face.

"Let's raise some hell."

* * *

 **Heyyyy! So, just to hurry up and get this out of the way so I can talk about what's happening in the story, I had a mental breakdown at the beginning of the month that made me terrified of Louisa's POV. My mind was scattered and I couldn't handle Louisa. I tried writing the chapter in Minho and Newt's POV, but it didn't come out the way I wanted it.**

 **Now, to the story! I'm so excited because things are happening. I almost started crying writing this chapter because of Louisa and Newt. ( I swear those two have made me cry more times than I can count. ) Then there was Minho and Louisa in the end that made me feel because Louisa, pushing through and trying to get better, and then Minho, helping her do that.**

 **{ review responses }**

 **The Tezzerax~ Thank you!**

 **Chipmunk1123~ Me too! I think I threw the book fifty billion times while reading it. It's so sad.**

 **doggirl212~ Hey, yea. Next friday. Yea that was a while back. Oops. Also, the story is picking up and I am so excited about it. The next chapter is actually going to start off with Nandini's POV so we can figure out where the hell Blake is and what he's doing.**

 **{ end of review responses }**

 **Yea, I'm sorry about the late update. I was trying, I really was. I hope this chapter was good, and I'll see you soon! Maybe not this friday, because I have a three day softball tournament, but maybe in about 8 days or so.**

 **Have a good day, evening, morning, afternoon, night!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hellooooo**

* * *

What Nandini said is really starting to bother me.

I don't want to raise hell; hell is scary.

Hell is pain, suffering, torture—all the things I don't want, all the things I want to avoid.

It's dark. All I can hear is the sound of shuffling footsteps, heaving breathing, and my own blood rushing through my veins. Since Minho is the 'leader' (It seems more like Thomas is the leader, but I'm not going to crush Minho's pride.) he's in the front opening doors with a very large gun held in front of him. The thought of standing next to him, fighting with him as an equal like we did in the Scorch overwhelms me, so I end up walking next to Newt in the back.

We don't talk. No one talks. Everyone is taut with anticipation. Occasionally, Brenda will say something about the Hangar and redirect us, but other than that it's relatively silent.

That is, until we actually get to the Hangar.

It's a mess. Boxes are knocked over everywhere, and there's a big empty spot from where a Berg is missing. My eyebrows rise, and then I slide behind Newt when I see a form laying in the floor. A groan emits from the lump and I stand on my tippy toes to see over Newt's shoulder. He chuckles softly, glancing at me, but my attention is rapt on the body that seems to have blood on it.

Brenda gasps and rushes forward.

"Jorge?"

The guy who cut my leg off.

I stand back on flat feet and hide behind Newt. This guy in the floor was the one holding the blade when my leg was cut off—he did it. Newt may have let him, may have held me down while it was happening, but Jorge was the one that did it and he's the one I should be afraid of.

I still take a step back away from Newt as well, my nerve failing me.

"What are you doing here?" Brenda asks. I squeeze my eyes shut and press the heels of my hands into my pants. "Where is everyone?"

Jorge groans, pushing her away. "Let me get my wits back together. My head feels like it's been stomped by dancing Cranks."

Brenda gives him some space, sitting down. I can't see the look on her face but I'm sure it's pinched with worry for the man that hurt me. Does that mean I can't trust Brenda?

I see Minho glancing at me over his shoulder. I offer a smile, but I'm sure it looks more like a grimace. My head is pounding, but I grit my teeth and deal with it.

Jorge starts talking. "I don't know how they did it, but they took over the compound, got rid of the guards, stole a berg, flew out of here with another pilot."

Teresa and whoever was with her is gone. I don't know where they went, or where they are going, I just hope that Reed is far, far away from me. Just the thought of that asshole makes my muscles freeze up and my skin to crawl with repulsion.

"Who?" Brenda asks and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. It seems so obvious to me. "Who are you talking about? Who left?"

"That Teresa chick. Her and the rest of the subjects. Well of all them except you _muchachos."_

Thomas stumbles a bit but catches himself on a stack of crates next to him. "They left us behind."

"Unsurprising." I say, ignoring the panic that latches onto me when everyone turns to face me. "You stupid idiots were probably being held somewhere by WICKED, right? If I were them…"

"You would leave us behind?" Brenda asks, narrowing her eyes at me.

I shrug. "I wouldn't, but that's because I have nothing left to lose except—" _Minho._ I bite the word back and continue talking. "If they have something to lose by going to get you, they wouldn't." Not to mention the fact that everyone has betrayed me so it doesn't surprise me that they did.

"That's the most I've heard you talk in a long time." Someone says. I shrug again but zone out as they converse to talk about how the group left us behind and why. I can quite frankly care less. It doesn't matter that they left us behind because it's in the past.

 _It doesn't matter because it's in the past._

My mind begins to rethink things. All these times I've been so worried about these memories when I could just suppress them. Suppress them and think about it later. It will be challenging, but what in my life hasn't been? Just move forward. Just move _forward._

Brenda's eyes widen as she looks at something behind me.

I'm pulled to the side by Newt as guns go off and an alarm blares.

The sound, the impossibly loud sound, drills into my skull as I crouch behind the crates. I can hear the bullets hitting the wood; I can smell something burning and see electricity crackling around the hangar. Everyone presses close together, desperate to stay behind the crates and out of the line of fire.

"Who let 'em loose?" Minho asks, about five feet to my right. I can feel his eyes on me, but I keep mine glued to a spot on the floor, trying to keep my hands by my side and off of my ears. _I will not fail them, I will not hold them back._

"Hardly think it bloody matters right now!" Newt shouts. I hate the way everyone is packed in here together like a bunch of sardines in one of those cans I found in the Scorch. On my left, there's Thomas. On my right, there's Newt. Next to Newt, Brenda, and then Minho, and Jorge, and then Nandini.

"They'll flank us any second!" Jorge yells. "We need to start shooting back!"

I don't have a gun. I won't have a gun. I refuse to kill anyone.

Thomas looks across us and at Jorge. "I guess you're with us then?"

"If she's helping you, then so am I. And, if you haven't noticed—they're trying to kill me too!" Jorge says just as the firing stops. I almost relax, but I'm not that stupid. I know that they are just trying to get an advantage on us. Hell, they're probably planning to corner and kill us like a bunch of wolves hunting down their pray.

"How do we do this?" Thomas asks Minho. I want to fold in on myself. I want to tell Thomas that it's hopeless, that we're all going to die, but the logical side of me says that all we have to do is get onto one of those Bergs. If Jorge is a pilot, then he can fly us far away from here. Far away from WICKED.

Minho nods. "I'll fire right, Newt fires left. Thomas and Brenda, you fire over the box. Jorge you scout a way for us to get to the Berg. Nandini, make sure Louisa doesn't get herself killed."

I grit my teeth together at that last part. "I don't need a baby sitter."

"We aren't arguing right now. I can't trust you to not freeze up." He says and I want to scream. "Shoot anything that moves or wears black. Get ready."

I glare at Minho. Nandini glares at me. I have no doubt that she wanted to kill some of WICKED's guards and now she's blaming me for what's happening. She can't blame me for Minho's orders. And I never said I would listen to him.

Brenda and Thomas kneel facing the box, Newt maneuvers around me and positions himself on the other side of Thomas. I shift into a crouch rather than sitting down, so I can run like hell when I'm told. If I can't use a weapon, then I'll make sure I'll stay out of their way.

"Okay," Minho shouts, "Now!"

They begin to fire the guns. Guards scream, others fall to the ground with quiet thuds. I hear footsteps, probably guards running for cover. I doubt they knew we had weapons.

"Jorge, which Berg is yours?" Minho yells. I watch as Jorge points to a Berg in the far corner of the hangar and my heart drops a little. It's so far away and I'm already slowed down by my leg.

"Won't take long to get her ready to fly." Jorge says. The hatch door is already open, looking so inviting.

"Everyone reload." Minho says, "Newt and I'll cover while the rest of you run to the Berg. Brenda and Thomas can cover us from behind that hatch door. Sound like a plan?"

I numbly nod. It sounds scary, but that's the only way to get out of this situation. Run, and run _fast._

"Go! Go! Go!" Minho yells.

Brenda, Thomas, and Jorge are, as expected, ahead of Nandini and I. She grabs my arm as I pass her, hauling me along. A flurry of gunfire explodes throughout the room, causing panic to earn a firm grip on each and every one of my muscles, stealing my breath away in the process. I can feel the ghost of the bullets brushing my arms, barely missing. Smoke curled in the air fro the electricity but I did my best to focus on nothing but the Berg.

Brenda goes down as a Launcher grenade smashes into her back. Thomas cries out her names as he skids to a stop next to her, but I run right past them. I will not stop. I would not do much good in this situation anyway. I'm weak. I am not strong. They're better off without me.

I sprint up the ramp, feeling lucky to have made it. When I look behind me, I see that Minho and Newt have reached Thomas and Brenda. Guilt tries to weasel its way into me, but I close all entryways and refuse to let it in. Sparks, white heat, are flowing all around Brenda and on the ground around her. I wince when Minho touches her and I catch the brief look of pain and fear on his face, but he quickly shakes it off and pulls her to the Berg with Thomas and Newt helping.

I want to be that strong. I want to be able to put my fears in a box and lock them away so I'm able to help my friends.

Thomas's face morphs into pain and I see blood start to ooze down his leg. Panic grips me, something I can't fight off, and my hands start shake. He lets out a furious scream before risking a fire behind him, barely missing one of the guards and causing electricity to crawl along the floor dozens of feet away.

Jorge rushes past me and grabs Brenda when they reach the Berg. Minho and Jorge start to yank her onto the ship, her heels thumping on the ramp. They pass me and set her down. Newt starts firing his weapon again, but it's out of ammunition. So is Thomas's.

"Forget reloading!" He shouts, "Let's go!"

Newt scrambles onto the ship and just past me, stopping and looking over his shoulder at Thomas.

But just as Thomas reaches the threshold of the Berg, electricity races across his skin and clothes. I let out a small scream, my hand extending towards him as if I could catch him as he fell back and landed in the hangar. I watch in horror as he body convulses. Panic, panic envelopes me as my hands start to shake and my heart skips a beat. He's going to die, he's going to die, _he's going to die._

Guards began to surround him. I want to look away. Thomas, my friend, the person I survived with in the Scorch, is going to die.

No.

 _No._

There has to be something I can do.

I run past Minho and ignore him as he shouts my name. People are firing Launchers and shooting guns, but I run until I get to one of the guards, and then I tackle him. I punch him in the face repeatedly, my fist catching his jaw, his nose, even part of his eye. Blood oozing out of his nostrils catches on my hand.

His green eyes are hostile. "You bitch." He hisses as he tries to throw me off, but I refuse. He hits me, catching my ribs and I let out a stifled groan.

"You bastard." I gasp out then put my hands on either side of his head and slam it into the metal floor of the hangar. Once. His hands are on my sides, trying to throw me off. Twice. He lets out a groan as his grip on me starts to fail. Three times and his eyes are fluttering. He's weak, I can grab Thomas and get away.

I stand, looking for him and find him crawling on his hands and knees towards the Berg. The floor vibrates with the hum of the Berg's thrusters. To my right Newt and Minho are fighting, shooting with two guards unconscious at their feet. I look down at my feet and find a small pool of blood coming from the guard's head, and a small stream of it going down the side of his bruising and slightly swollen face. My stomach rolls.

Thomas, I have to help Thomas.

I run back towards the Berg and grab him by the shirt, hauling him up the ramp as best I can. The hatch starts to shut, hinges groaning. "C'mon." I mumble, grunting as I try to pull him.

All of a sudden he's lifted by Newt and tossed into the Berg.

I don't waste time getting inside.

Everyone is here, alive and relatively uninjured as the Berg takes off, leaving WICKED behind. I let out a breath of relief and sit down, one knee propped up and an arm draped across it. I know that WICKED will only come after us, that this is the beginning of a long, and arduous journey, so I can't fully relax. What if we made things worse? What if they find us?

Out of the corner of my eye I see my hand, and the blood that's staining it. I hastily wipe it off, trying to forget the feeling of the guard's bone giving under my fist. My hands are shaking. I can't get the blood off. It's just smearing and becoming a lighter red. Why won't it come off? _Why won't it come off?_

"Louisa." Minho's hands close over my own. I look up at him, realizing that my breathing is harsh and ragged. I probably look half way to madness, which, I am actually. "It's okay."

What I just did seems impossible. What _we_ just did seems impossible. We escaped WICKED. There's no Noah, there's no Janson, there's no one to alter my mind any further. Sure, I'm on a giant flying death trap with someone I don't trust flying it, but at least I'm not in WICKED facilities anymore.

… _._

I'm more than a little nervous. We're leaving the comfort and safety of the Berg that I've relied on these past couple of days, and we're venturing into a city.

 _A city._

"Are you sure this is what we should do?" I ask, my voice shaky. Everyone is sitting in the cargo hold on a bunch of ugly furniture.

"We're sure." Newt says, and he sounds exasperated. He is going to have to stay here with his sister since they aren't immune. The rest of us will be going in to get the brain implant in our heads removed. I don't know if that's like the Swipe, or if it is the Swipe, but as long as we have it in, they can control us. I'm done with WICKED controlling me.

"Okay." Is all I say as I fold my legs underneath me. I've heard of the place we're going—Denver. It rings in my mind, threatening a barrage of memories, but I manage to push back against the wave and keep them at bay. As long as I can keep doing that, I should manage to retain my sanity and at least help these people do what they need to.

"Are you ready?" Jorge asks. I nod my head and glance at Newt. For some reason, I don't feel right about leaving him here. But, leaving and going into the city feels right. It's scary as hell, but… I can't really describe it. The idea of the city isn't as bad as I thought it would be.

"We'll be back." Minho says as the hatch opens. We're not one-hundred feet from the giant doors to a city. The city is walled, as I expected, but the walls just remind me of the Maze.

And the Maze reminds me of Newt. Of the Newt that was sane.

I bite back the wave of nostalgia and head towards the iron doors. Minho is at my side, his hand occasionally brushing mine, reminding me that he's there. I don't need the reminder. It seems like I'm always able to tell that he's there without having to look up.

When I catch him looking at me, I smile softly despite the bundle of nerves boiling in my stomach. Jorge created fake documents for us, so we should be safe. But it doesn't calm me down at all. The walls still loom and only seem to be getting larger. I can only be glad that there aren't any vines on the walls; if there were, I probably would have retreated into my mind.

The walk to the entrance seems to take forever, but when we finally reach it, I feel like I'm going to puke. An electronic buzz startles me, my hand grabbing Minho's as a female voice follows it.

"State your names and your business."

Jorge raises his voice to answer. "I'm Jorge Gallaraga, and these are my associates. Brenda Despain, Thomas Murphy, Minho Park, and Louisa Kittredge." I wince at the name. "We're here for some information gathering and field testing. I'm a certified Berg pilot. I have all necessary paperwork with me, but you can check it out." He pulls a few cards out of his pocket and holds them up to a camera in the wall. I feel tense.

"Hold please." The voice says. For a moment I think that we've been found out, that they are calling WICKED to come and get us and torture us. Out of habit, I squeeze Minho's hand.

After what feels like several minutes, the doors click and being to open. With a lot of squealing later, they're open and revealing another set of doors further down. In the concrete wall next to it there is a complicated looking computer that kind of scares me.

"Let's go." Minho says to me quietly. I realize that Jorge and Thomas had started walking, and that I haven't moved a single inch.

I look at Minho and nod, letting him lead the way. The doors shut behind us. The resonating sound seems final even though I'm pretty sure I can leave whenever I want to.

The computers are even more complicated up close. Jorge pushes a button on the largest one, and beings to type in our information. With each passing second I become even more certain that we screwed up. If it weren't for that guy, Hans, I would walk away from this place. It's the outside world—how well can I possibly know it? I fear the unknown.

The lady's voice comes back, nearly startling me again. "Papers are in order. Please move to the viral testing station."

A panel on the wall opens. I resist the urge to hide behind Minho as a mechanical arm comes out of it. It looks like it has eye sockets. When Jorge lines his face up with it a wire pricks his next and several hisses and clicks follow. The wire retreats and Jorge steps away.

The machine retracts into the wall and a new one replaces it. This thing will tell me if I'm immune or not? WICKED never told me that I'm infected, but they never exactly told me I'm immune. Well, Lee did, I think, but how can I count on that? What if all of a sudden I'm not immune and I have the Flare and I'll go crazy like Newt is?

Brenda finishes. She looks noticeably relieved. She's confirmed immune by WICKED and these things still make her nervous. How am I supposed to feel? I've never been confirmed immune!

Minho lets go of my hand and goes through the procedure. I watch nervously as the thing pricks his neck. What if he's not immune? What if he's going to go crazy like Newt? I don't know if I'll be able to handle it if that happens. I'm already struggling with how I should treat Newt now. How would I treat Minho? Knowing him, he would want me to treat him exactly the same and then kill him before he can get too crazy.

Yea, I won't be able to do that.

He steps away and Thomas goes next. I'm last, of course. Just giving me more time to build up my nerves. I feel like I might puke. Why couldn't I have gone first?

Thomas steps away and I take his place. The thing pricks my neck and there are a few flashes of color and a puff of air that makes me squeeze my eyes shut. Each passing second seems to drawl into a minute, and that minute into ten. I just wanna be normal.

When I open my eyes, everything is dark so I take a step away. I wait for the alarms or whatever it is that lets someone know they're not immune, but nothing happens.

"You've all been cleared of VCT and confirmed immune. You do realize that the opportunities are cast for your kind here in Denver. But don't advertise it too much on the streets. There are many here who don't take kindly to Immunes." The lady says and I release a shaky breath.

"We're here for a few simple tasks and then we'll be heading out in a week or so." Jorge says, "Hopefully we can keep our little secret a…. secret."

"What's VCT?" Thomas asks, leaning closer to Minho. Minho shrugs.

"How the hell am I supposed to know?"

"Viral Contagion Threat." Brenda says as Thomas turns to her. "But keep it down. Anyone who doesn't know that will seem suspicious here."

Like we aren't already suspicious. We flew in on a Berg; I don't think many people have that luxury.

There's a loud beep as the doors begin to slide open. Another hallway is revealed, its walls made of metal. There is another set of closed doors at the end of it. How many freaking hallways do we have to walk down before we can enter the city?

"Enter the detector one at a time, please," The woman says. "Mr. Gallaraga first."

Jorge enters the small space and the doors slide shut behind him. If its a detector, what does it detect? Weapons? Metal? Because I'm pretty sure there's metal in my prosthetic. I look at Brenda. She has an earring in her left ear, a small, metal thing. If she gets through with that, will I get through with my leg?

The doors open and Jorge is no longer there. I didn't expect him to be.

"Ms. Despain is next." The announcer sounds bored now. What happens in the chamber? I become fidgety, running my thumb over my fingers. A moment later, it's Minho's turn. He turns to the both of us, me and Thomas, a very serious expression on his face.

"If I don't see you on the other side," His voice is sappy, and I know its a joke. "remember that I love you both." He snickers at Thomas's eye roll and a small smile forms on my lips at him. That's the playful Minho from the Maze that I care about so much.

Thomas goes next and I'm left standing outside the doors by myself. My nerves multiply tenfold and I look down at the ground. My feet—foot, is still bare. Most of my legs are revealed and my hair is probably a mess. No doubt I'll be an oddity in the city.

The door opens. I step inside, taking a deep breath and trying to calm my racing heart. I hear several beeps as a rush of air hits me, and then moments later the doors in front of me open.

There are people everywhere. Men and women hold rags to their mouths and the city, the city is huge! I'm in an atrium that has a glass dome overtop. There are skyscrapers, not like the one's in the Scorch; these are brilliant with the sunlight reflecting off of them.

I see the group waiting for me, so I walk over to them. Thomas looks just as amazed as I am, his neck craning to look all around. My head is starting to hurt, the memories pushing hard to try and get it, but I hold them back. Sometimes little tidbits slip through, but never enough to cause me to lock up and curl into a ball.

Thomas asks a question that I don't quite catch, and Brenda answers. "This is a—"

"Mall." I breathe out, the word coming to me in a bright, white flash. "Right?"

Brenda looks at me and nods. "It basically runs along the entire wall surrounding the city. Its mainly shops and businesses."

 _Businesses._

The word triggers something. I feel like someone has stabbed me right in the head, from the inside out. I look for Minho, to see if being near him might help, but he's in wonder at the city and I don't want to take away from that so I ball my hands into fists until my fingernails break the skin on my palms.

But it doesn't work.

" _Are you sure you want to?" I ask, leaning against a counter._

" _We need the money. Plus, if I do this, we'll be able to buy food for mom and dad." He says. His eyes are brown, his hair is blonde like mine._

 _I roll my eyes. "Okay, fine. I'll help."_

Then it changes.

" _There's no way you can eat that much. Besides, WICKED would never let you." I say, pushing my oatmeal around in its bowl._

" _But what if—"_

" _Can it, Minho. You know we're low on food right now. Do your little bet some other time."_

When I open my eyes, there's a guy walking away from us. I'm gasping for breath as if I had held it for a couple of minutes. Minho is looking at me, but I just nod and he turns his attention to Thomas. Who has a note in his hand. Did that guy give it to him?

"What in the world was that all about?" Minho asks, "What does it say?"

He must've gotten the note from the guy that walked away. There's no other person that seems to be near us.

"It says, 'You need to come meet me immediately—I'm with a group called the Right Arm. Corner of Kenwood and Brookshire, Apartment 2792.'"

"Wait," I say, looking at Thomas with wide eyes. "Did you say the 'Right Arm'?" I'm going to puke.

"Yea…?" He says, but he's still staring at the paper. His face has gone pale.

"What is it Thomas?" Minho questions, or rather, demands. Thomas finally looks up and I'm scared at what he's going to say.

"It's from Gally."

What? I never really questioned what happened there. I always just assumed he died in the escape from the Maze. It didn't bother me—doesn't bother me—but how is he alive? Judging by the look on Thomas's face, he assumed Gally was dead too. The guy was an asshole, is an asshole.

"That's impossible." Minho breathes out. Brenda nods her head.

"I agree. Last time I saw the guy he was completely nuts."

"He's—"

"Alive? Yea. I believe he's alive. I just don't believe he's here." Brenda shakes her head. "The psychological damage was bad. They forced him to kill Chuck just like they forced Chuck to move in front of you."

I feel sick to my stomach. WICKED forced a child, a _child_ who didn't even have a chance to live, to sacrifice himself for the sake of the Trials. I can't believe I ever worked for them. Or did I? I don't know, all I know is that WICKED is the enemy.

"That's horrible." A shudder goes down my spine.

"Yea," Brenda says, "It was like Gally had the Flare. He was trying to eat chairs and spitting and yelling and ripping his own hair out."

I've done the last one. Except I never actually ripped my hair out, just pulled on it really, really hard. And I've yelled and I've spit. I haven't eaten a chair though, so I'm not totally insane. At least not like Gally was and possibly is.

"I wonder what he means by the Right Arm." Thomas asks. Jorge opens his mouth to respond.

"They're an underground group that's hellbent on beating WICKED." The words leave my mouth before I even realize I've spoken. Everyone looks at me, seemingly shocked I know that and shocked that I even spoke.

"How do you know that?" Jorge asks, suspicious. I shrug, but I don't like the way he's looking at me.

"I don't know. It just popped up in my mind."

"Do you know anything else?" He presses, but I shake my head.

"I could probably find out, but it would take days for me to recover from delving into my mind." Just the thought of doing that is causing me to teeter closer over the edge. I just saw glimpses of it and I want to curl into a ball and stay like that. I don't know what will happen if I actually try to find things out.

"We need the information." Jorge moves closer to me, but Minho takes half a step in front of him, in between us.

"Does it look like I fucking care?" I cock my head to one side, smiling coldly.

Jorge's pressing gaze turns into a scowl. I raise my eyebrows.

"What are you going to do, beat it out of me? Because some has tried it before and it didn't work out too well for either of us." I ignore the squeeze in my chest when I say the words. Brenda and Thomas look between the three of us: Jorge, glaring at me, Minho, standing partially in front of me, and finally me, the broken little girl.

"I think we should do what the note says." Thomas interjects. Thinking about doing that scares me, but then again, so does everything else.

"I really think we should find Hans before anything else." Brenda says, her face changing into doubt. Jorge tears his glare off of me and turns his attention to Thomas, while Minho backs up to stand beside me.

Thomas waves the note in the air between his two fingers. "Gally knows the city."

"What if this is some kind of trap?" Brenda asks. I forget. Some people actually care about their lives unlike me, who's just scared of everything but doesn't care about themselves one bit. I confuse myself sometimes.

"Yea," Minho says, "Maybe we should think about this."

"No," Thomas shakes his head, "We can't try to outguess them anymore. Sometimes they do things just to make me do the opposite of what they think I think they think I want to do."

I try to sort through his words. "Thomas you're giving me a headache. Just clarify."

"From now on I do what feels right." Thomas explains, and I nod my head, the words finally clicking. "And something tells me we need to go to this place and see ally—at least to find out if it's really him. He has every reason in the world to be on our side."

Minho, Jorge, and Brenda seem to be thinking of an argument. I can tell they want to get to his Hans person as soon as possible, but we could use an ally in the city. Not to mention, I kind of want to learn more about the Right Arm.

"Alright," I clap my hands together, "Now that that's settled, I think we should get food."

Minho nudges me with his arm. "You need shoes."

"And shoes!"

Brenda shakes her head and then motions for us to follow her. "Let's just go."

Minho walks next to me, casting glances at me everyone in a while as we walk. There are people everywhere. Some look at me oddly because of my leg, or my lack of one. I don't mind so much, and I'm not so panicky about the amount of people in here. For a change, I'm not in a bad mood. I don't feel like so constricted or like everything is pressing in on me. There are still the memories, but they aren't controlling me like they were.

I'm just…I'm okay.

* * *

 **Woah, okay, that was long.**

 **Also, Heyyyy, I'm back. I found that not writing the fanfiction was harder than writing it. And I missed Louisa.**

 **I hope that chapter was good and that Louisa's character seemed right. I'm kinda nervous that I accidentally changed something. I mean, she's obviously going to be different because her character is going to gradually develop and change.**

 **That's another thing. I'm terrified I'm going to screw her development up.**

 **{ review responses }**

 **The Tezzerax ~ Thank you! I really didn't want them to hate each other the entire fanfic so I'm trying to mend their friendship.**

 **Chipmink1123 ~ I did cry when I wrote that because I went back and reread part of Fighting Against You, and then had to write that. Just, my poOR CHILDREN I CRY**

 **doggirl212 ~ No, she doesn't have the Flare. I just figured that after** **everything she's been through, her mind wouldn't really work right. And thank youuu, I'm glad you're hooked. And lastly, yea, I think they could be friends.**

 **Becka21214 ~ Thank you! I feel a lot better now.**

 **Mazelover ~ Thank you! It did hurt, and sometimes still does, but it feels a whole lot better than it did.**

 **{ end of review responses }**

 **I don't know when the next chapter is going to be out. I'm hoping...in seven days. Hoping being the key word. I can't make any promises.**

 **I have to go analyze some poems now for school, ugh. Have a nice day, evening, night, morning, afternoon!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi, hey, so I'm kinda happy about this chapter. Wow, I always kinda don't like the chapters I put out.**

 **sorry about any typos, it's late but I wanted to get this up today.**

* * *

"Stop pitying yourself, Newt." I say, pushing off the wall of the Berg. I know what's going to happen if we stay here, and I don't want that to happen. I don't want to go to that place full of Cranks. Maybe that will perpetuate the craziness in my head; I don't know and I don't want to loiter around here to find out.

"Don't you have the flare?" He says, looking up at me, his eyes puffy and red. "Don't you know what it's like?"

"Of course I do you idiot." I say. It's an itch that you can't quite scratch. It drives you insane, each little thing sets you off. "I've just learned to cope with it."

And I've had a few doses of the Bliss. Don't ask how I got them, because I don't want to relive that experience ever again.

"How?" He pleads, " _How?"_

"I stopped thinking that the rest of my life would be spent eating people and that I would find you instead." I say, crouching in front of him. He just puts his head back down on his knees. It's weird how he and Louisa are so alike when they're both crazy.

"I don't have a goal. I don't have anything to strive for anymore."

That hits me. I hate seeing my brother like this, but so many other people are going through the same thing. I'm going through the same thing; I'm just at a later stage than he is.

He deserves so much more than a life spent barely surviving. We all do.

"Yea, you do." I lift his head by his hair, "You know those bastards at WICKED, right? What they did to you? They put you through the Trials, they exposed you to the Flare. You're like this because of them."

He lets out a shaky breath. "They're trying to find a cur—"

"Don't give me that bullshit. Don't hold on to that hope. They hurt Louisa, they hurt Minho, Thomas. Don't spend the last few months of your life hoping WICKED will save you when all they have done is destroy you." I grit my teeth and stand, hauling him up with me. He stumbles, but I steady him.

 _Any moment now…_

Newt is quiet, probably thinking about everything that I said. It just bothers me that he gave up everything so quickly. I know he gave Thomas a note (I may have checked everyone's pockets. It's a habit of mine.) and I know what is on that note. I also know that Newt wanted Thomas to kill him before he left for Denver. Any idiot can see that. Well… if they've read the note that is.

My brother puts his head on my shoulder. He doesn't cry, surprisingly. He just rests his head there, arms hanging by his side.

I sigh. "Look, alright. I know what you're going through, and you have to trust me. I won't let you go crazy, Newt."

There was a knock on the hatch of the Berg. Newt lifts his head, eyes staring blankly at the door. Does he think its someone coming to kill us? Take us away? Does he hope it's someone coming to kill him? I shake my head as three quick raps follow.

Five seconds pass, and two slower ones resonate throughout the space.

I open the hatch and I see Blake smiling up at me. His blond hair is messy and his breath has left him, but he's here. I find myself smiling back and that smile only broadens when I see the car behind him.

"It wasn't easy to find it, you know?" He says, catching my gaze on the car.

"I owe you, big time." I grab Newt's wrist, pulling him out of the Berg.

"Wait," He says, "Wait."

"What?" I ask. We kind of need to leave, like now. Before people see the Berg and come search it and take us away. I release my hold on him, and he disappears back into the Berg. I groan. "Newt, we have to go."

"Just a moment." He raises his voice. I look over my shoulder and find him getting a pen and paper, where he found it, I don't know. I just know he's writing another note. Probably to let his friends know where we've gone. I don't even know where we're going—I just know it's away from here.

"How is he?" Blake asks as I stand next to him. I honestly didn't expect to see him for a while, because I had no idea if he would get the car. So the fact that he's here to save me and Newt.. Well I could just kiss him for it.

But I won't. Definitely won't.

I feel my face heat up as I remember the last time Blake kissed me. Pretty sure I was rambling about how I wanted him to stay and that I owed him, then bam! And he said it was his _reward._

 _"_ Hello?" Blake waves a hand in front of my face.

I start, and realize that I've been staring at him. He smiles, but I can't manage one back.

"Newt's... The same way I was when I found out. He just needs something to live for that's all." I say, looking away from Blake, unable to hold his gaze. "What about your dad?"

His smile falters. "It can wait."

"No, he's your father. He's your family. You should go and find him." _Please stay with me._

Am I that selfish? Yes, yes I am. I want him here to help me with Newt. I know I can do it on my own, but having Blake here would make things so much easier.

But... Isn't Denver his home?

"Right now we're doing something important." He says. Despite the fact that I want him here, I want to do everything in my power to convince him to go, just so I know he won't regret staying. Does that make sense?

"But nothing is more important than fami—"

"I don't want to talk about it." His tone changes.

"But—"

"Drop it, Nandini."

My eyebrows draw together. I think about what happened over the past few weeks, what he's been doing, but he's just been as much as prisoner in WICKED as me. We weren't treated with as much reverence as the Subjects, but we were still giving a living quarters or a room, rather, for our effort in the Trials. I didn't really see Blake after we got out of the Scorch.

I reach out for his hand, ready to ask him what happened, when Newt shoulders past us and climbs into the backseat of the SUV. Blake walks away, leaving me to follow and wonder what the hell is going on with him.

...

I lay down in the leather backseat of the car.

This is it. I'm leaving them.

My friends I've know my entire life. Minho, Thomas, Louisa. I'll never see them again.

It doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would.

I thought I would curl into a ball and go over every moment with them, regretting the things I never got to say, but I'm not. I feel... Relieved. They won't have to see me go through this. They're safe. They're in Denver and they'll destroy WICKED, I know it. Especially Louisa. She'll regain her sanity and come back with a vengeance even satan himself would fear.

And I'll go crazy on the streets with my sister. Such an ideal family.

Of course, I'm still wary about this Blake kid. All I know is he's close to Nandini. That doesn't give me any reasons to trust the stupid shank. Actually, it gives me more of a reason not to.

I hear the doors open and shut. The sound causes me to flinch and I dig my fingers into my hair. Nandini and Blake are looking at me, I can feel it, their eyes pinned on my back, but I don't turn and look at them. Instead, I try to focus on keeping the Flare at bay.

It's like…Imagine you have a bad headache. A really bad one. You rest to try and get it to go away, but it only gets worse and becomes more incessant and nagging. Kind of like someone poking you in the head repeatedly. With a bat. And it's like they're trying to hit a bloody home run. Then, add that with a kind of buzzing sound, faint, but there.

It drives you mad. Right now I'm trying not to scream, every part of my body wanting to but my mind knows its not the best thing to do when you have a headache. I grit my teeth against the urge.

The car starts to move. I don't know where we're going.

What will Louisa think when she sees I'm gone? What will Tommy and Minho think? Will they think I've abandoned them?

No, no. Thomas failed. I asked him to kill me and he didn't. Now, because of him, I'm being forced to live as a cannibalistic monster. I asked one thing of him! After all I did for him in the Glade, he couldn't do this one thing for me!

I hate him.

Maybe I should have asked Louisa. Maybe she would have done it. She's just as crazy as I am, just in a different way. She wild understand, because she knows me better than anyone. She—

She has Minho. Clings to him like he's a lifeline. And Minho.. My best friend… He's taken her from me. If it weren't for him, I would still have her. She would be here next to me, saying soothing words, easing the Flare away because thats what she does. She makes things better. She would make me see that the world isn't so shucked and that—

They've abandoned me. The whole lot of them. Frypan, Clint, Minho, Thomas, Louisa. They've left to save their own skins. I hate them. I hate them. _I hate them._

"Newt?" Nandini asks, reaching back and putting a hand on my shoulder. My eyes focus on the black leather interior, which I've scratched white marks into. My fingertips on my left hand burn, and I realize by scratching the leather they've been rubbed them raw.

I curl into a ball, disgusted with myself. How could I think like that? Those stupid shanks are out there trying to save the world. I can't hate them for that. I can't.

Maybe it's a good thing they aren't here to see this side of me. A side that I didn't even know existed until I was told I wasn't immune. Sure, I had had occasional headaches before, and yea I did get ticked off for no reason, but never to this extent. Never was it this bad.

"It'll be okay, Newt. We just gotta steal the cure from WICKED." There's bitterness in Nandini's voice when she says the last part.

 _Steal the cure._

But there is no cure. There is no cure, no hope, no future.

There is nothing except the spiraling madness in my mind.

…..

As we drive through the city in a cab, I watch as it goes to rubble. From the outer walls it looked clean and safe, but the further in you get you see how the streets become littered with trash and rats scurry across them. People walk with their heads lowered and cloths pressed against their mouths.

But, it's also magnificent.

Towering skyscrapers and holographic advertisements; _hovering_ vehicles called cop machines (if my memory serves me correctly, which it probably doesn't) and countless people. More people than I have ever seen.

There's another cab ahead of us carrying Brenda and Jorge. Thomas, Minho, and I were crammed into a second one since we all couldn't fit in the one.

Minho pokes my side, "Are you nervous?"

I go to glance at him, but out of the corner of my eye I see a poster of a tight-faced woman with her blonde hair pulled back, the slogan 'Chancellor Paige Loves You' across the bottom. My stomach lurches. Isn't she my mom's sister? Isn't she the one that threw all of us in the Maze? That sign is lying, it's lying and those cold, blue eyes are reminding me too much of my—Ms. Kittredge.

"Lo?" Minho asks. My hands are shaking so I squeeze them shut but it doesn't help.

"Yea?" I ask, looking at him.

"She saw the sign," Thomas says, tearing his eyes from the city to look at us. I'm sitting in the middle of the two, my shoulder's touching theirs. "Brenda said we could trust Chancellor Ava Paige."

I shake my head. We can't. We can't. That is one person, her and Janson, we can't trust.

"She left me at WICKED, she took me from my family; she made me believe that Kittredge was my last name." I say, slightly breathless. "You can trust her, but I can't—I won't."

Thomas nods, "I understand, but I trust Brenda, and she said we could trust Ava."

He can do what he wants. I don't trust Brenda, so I have no reason to trust Ava Paige. Brenda may be helping us now, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. I don't really have much of an opinion on it to be honest.

The streets become dirtier and graffiti covers the walls as we turn into a dark alley. It's deserted save for the other cab ahead of us. Jorge and Brenda steps out of it, the older man walking over to us and paying for the cab ride. I get out on Minho's side, my right, and look up at the looming building in front of us.

The cabs drive away and Jorge points at the closest staircase. "Number 2792 is that way, on the second floor."

Minho whistles. "Looks real homey."

I rub my hands together in front of me, but it isn't because they're cold. It's because my nerves are running rampant in my stomach. The building is a drab gray with multi-colored graffiti on it, either giving warnings about the Flare or defacing WICKED. Some are even praising them. It makes me nauseous.

Brenda pushes Thomas. "Your idea, you lead."

He looks at us over his shoulder, then heads up the stairs. We file in behind him, me going last. The Right Arm could be in that room. Gally is in that room. The Right Arm. In one of the lives in my head, didn't my mom tell me to go join the Right Arm with my brother?

All of a sudden I don't want to go. But… I want to face my fears. I need to do this to make progress. Maybe I'll find people connected to one of the lives in my head and figure out what the hell is real.

"This is crazy." Jorge whispers. I can't agree more. "This is completely crazy."

Minho snorts. "Thomas kicked the klunk out of him once, he can do it again. I think Louisa almost did it one time too."

We stop in front of the old wooden door; only a few scant remnants of the faded green paint remained on the door.

"Unless he comes out with guns blazing." Jorge counters. I hope they don't have guns. Of course, if Gally is with the Right Arm, why wouldn't he have guns?

"Would you guys shut up?" Thomas says, his voice shaking a little. I understand. his nerves are probably shot just like mine are. He knocks on the door ten days before I'm ready. The few agonizing seconds that pass seem too slow and too fast at the same time.

The door opens.

I duck behind Minho.

So much for facing my fears.

I can see Gally from over Minho's shoulder. His face is scarred, his right eye swollen, and his nose is crooked like Ratman's. His voice is raspy when he speaks.

"Glad you came, because the end of the world is upon us."

"Geez," I mutter as we file into the room. "Nice to see you too."

He opens the door wider and gestures for us to go in. The room is dark and tidy, no furniture inside. A yellow blanket is hanging over the large window, giving the place a weird glow. My steps falter when I see another figure in the room, pulling part of the blanket back and looking out the window. The light cast across his face reveals sharp features and sapphire colored eyes. I wasn't expecting to see anyone else. Especially not one that stands with the authority of someone trained.

"Have a seat." Gally says, sitting down on the floor. We sit down across from him. I fold my hands in my lap and eye the person by the window, not trusting him. I don't trust Gally either.

All of a sudden, the knife Minho tried to give me in WICKED seems really nice.

"You know Minho and Louisa," Thomas says, somewhat awkwardly. Gally nods at Minho then looks at me, eyes taking in my prosthetic. I glare at him but am surprised when his eyes meet mine and I see a pity there. "This is Brenda and Jorge. They're from WICKED but—"

"I know who they are." Gally interrupts. He sounds numb. "Those shucks at WICKED gave me my past back. Without asking, I might add."

"Well that's one thing we have in common." I say before I realize I've said it. The boy looking out the curtains turns towards us at the sight of my voice.

"Probably one of the only things." He remarks. I nod, lips pressed thin. He then turns to Minho. "Hey, you were real nice to me in our last Gathering. Thanks for that."

"I'd had a bad day." Minho says. I briefly wonder what Minho did, but I doubt anything would surprise me. Everyday was a bad day in the Glade.

"Let bygones be bygones, right?" Gally snickers. I shift, uncomfortable under the stranger's stare. Minho seems to notice, because his eyes look up at the boy, glaring.

"I'm sorry about what I did, Gally." Thomas says, guilt painting his face.

"You're sorry? I killed Chuck. He's dead. Because of me."

It's an effort to keep my mouth closed. Gally killed chuck? What did Thomas do to Gally? I hate not knowing. I hate it, but there's nothing I can really do about it.

"It wasn't your fault." Brenda says, trying to be soothing. So even she knows what happened. I bet Jorge does too and I'm the only one here that doesn't know. God, that's annoying.

Gally stiffens. "That's a bunch of klunk." Brenda opens her mouth again, but doesn't get to say anything. "Look, we aren't here to talk about that. We're here to talk about the end of the world."

"What a cheery subject," I say, fighting back nerves. It's an effort to keep my voice strong. "I'm not talking about that until you tell us how you got here, and what happened."

"And how you knew we were coming." Minho adds. "And who was that weird dude that delivered the message to us?"

The boy in the corner pushes off the wall and stands next to Gally. "That weird dude would be Richard, a member of the Right Arm."

The boy was looking at me, and when he makes eye contact, my heart seizes then expands in my chest. I feel like crying all of a sudden. Will it be accepted if I start crying? Probably not.

"And who is the Right Arm, exactly?"

"They have people in every city and town left on this crappy planet. They oppose WICKED." Gally rubs his chin. "As for how I knew you were coming, I received a anonymous message over the Netblock. I assumed you guys sent it."

I think for a moment. We didn't send it. That must mean… "So you tracked the Berg here. And then waited so you could give us that message." I say.

He nods. "We're here to talk about taking down WICKED." He makes it sound easy. "However, we have two big problems on our hands."

The other boy speaks, addressing everyone but his eyes never leave me. Would flipping him off be appropriate? "The Flare is running rampant through the city, and that all kinds of corruption is going on to hide it because the ones who are sick are government officials. The other problem is the Munies are disappearing."

"We think they're being rounded up so they can start the Trials over."

A shiver goes down my spine at Gally's words. The Trials, again?

"Do you know anything about Teresa?" Thomas asks. I want to roll my eyes, but I suppose it's important. I'm just not so close to them. At least not close enough to care.

"Yeah, we found them too. Gave them the same message. They said something about hoping to find you. But there's one more thing." Gally glances over his shoulder at the boy standing there.

"There's a bounty out for a guy named Hans who used to work there, lives here now. WICKED thinks you came here for him, and they want him dead."

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. We don't have as much time as we thought we did.

Brenda seems to notice this too. "We're leaving. Now."

Jorge, Minho, and Thomas get to their feet, but I can't make myself move. The boy, he looks familiar. He.. he looks like..

Minho extends a hand to help me up. I take it, and when I stand he doesn't let go.

"Do you swear," Thomas says, "That everything you said is true?"

"Every bit." Gally stands. "We need every warm body we can get."

Thomas thinks for a moment. I look at the boy again, who now has his arms crossed over his chest. He looks like he wants to say something. I kind of want to say something to him too. He's not… If it weren't for the attempted apathy at my memories and the effort to keep them back, I would be on the ground, knees to my chest. It's getting hard, and I can feel it threatening to overwhelm me.

Yea, leaving seems like a good idea.

"What do we do if we want in?" Thomas asks.

"You come back here. Any time before nine or so in the morning, for another week."

Thomas nods and then turns to leave. "We'll be back." He says over his shoulder. Minho tugs me along, forcing me to follow. My steps creak on the wooden floor, each one setting my nerves alight. I find it hard to breathe as I glance over my shoulder.

"Louisa." The boy says, stepping forward, blue eyes shining. "It was good to see you."

I narrow my eyes. "Don't talk as if you know me."

I swear I see hurt flash across his face, but he masks it over with apathy as I leave. It really only makes sense that he's hurt, but I don't know him, or I don't think I do. Not anymore. I'll talk to him and get to know him like I did with every other person in my life after the Swipe.

And then, if I like him, I'll reestablish the relationship we had before.

When we get to the bottom of the stairs, Minho slows his walk down and let's everyone else walk ahead of us. I look around at the trash littering the streets, the graffiti colors, just anything to try to calm myself down. I feel sick to my stomach. But I'm also kind of excited. I just met someone from my past within a day of being here. What can happen over the course of a couple of weeks?

"You okay?" He asks.

"Will be soon. Are you?" I ask, looking over at him and finding his brown eyes on the ground beneath us. There are shards of glass, a beer bottle perhaps, with light from the sun reflecting off of it.

"It's just… It's kind of surreal." He says, rubbing the back of his neck with his other hand. "We left the Maze just a few months ago. Now after all we've been through, we're finally going to fight back."

He smiles. I can still see the shadows in his eyes, but he seems excited. Happy, that we're doing something. I find myself smiling back, lightly squeezing his hand.

"When all of this is over," I say, although the thought seems impossible. "I'd like to stick with you. Not wander off on my own, or chase some vague memory in my mind. It's just… Maybe the past isn't so important you know? If I keep focusing on it, my future will be consumed. And I don't want it to be. I don't want the time I have left to spend with you to be eaten up by some monster in my past. I want to keep surviving together—no, I want to live with you in my life, Minho."

Minho had slowed to a stop sometime while I was talking, so we're midway down the alley. Brenda, Jorge, and Thomas are at the end, still consumed in their own talk. When I look back at Minho, he's staring right at me, mouth slightly parted, eyes a flurry of emotion.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks. He doesn't take a step closer; he doesn't move a single inch. He's waiting for my reaction. For my answer. I haven't thought about anything like that since I got my Swipe removed, I haven't let myself.

Do I want to? Yes, no, maybe. I don't know.

I respond by moving closer to him. Should I? Is this a good idea? Will I have a panic attack or are the nerves in my stomach because of him, because I like him?

He's so close. We've been close before: those nights in my room, the moments of panic, all those hugs, the times I comforted him because he had had a bad nightmare. But this feels different. Why? _Why?_

"Hey!" Thomas shouts from the end of the alley, "Hurry up!"

I tear my gaze away from Minho and force myself to walk away and drop his hand. It was a bad idea. I can't handle that right now on top of everything else. It would just overwhelm me.

It's best to ignore the fact that he ever asked that question.

 _Can I kiss you?_

 _No, Minho. You can't._

* * *

 **Well then. Okay.**

 **That was emotional.**

 **In order to write Newt and Nandini's part, I had to read Newt's last POV and I wanted to cry at how much he's changed just mY CHILD**

 **and I see changes on the horizon for Louisa. She's already getting better and I'm proud of her for that.**

 **Also, to doggirl212, was this really ever a lighthearted story? i feel like I've just gone really dark with it. Also, thanks, I'm glad you think it's amazing. *fixes table*** **Maybe...**

 **I'll see you all in a week! Have a good day, evening, morning, afternoon, night!**


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